The Idiopathies
by maddeve
Summary: Some things come on suddenly. Some things have always laid dormant. As Sakura gets reacquainted with an old companion, she finds the end of war does not mean the end of struggle, and that there are many ways in which trauma exacts its toll. "I don't want to be a patient," she said through gritted teeth, "and I don't want to be a psychopath either." And then, spat out, "Help me."
1. co-morbid

Warning: Manga spoilers, to an extent. I've obviously changed some things that occurred in the canon. This takes place post-war. Don't be worried if some things aren't explained at first; they will be. The POV is rather omniscient but focuses primarily on Sakura's perspective, so it will attempt to follow her train of thought, which means that some expositional information won't be given out until she thinks about them.

Please do review. It's always much appreciated, and I thank you for reading!

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><p><em>The Idiopathies<em>

**one : co-morbid**

The first time it happened, she went down like a felled tree. Which was a saving grace, as it turned out, because at the same time her knees hit the ground a Fuuma shuriken lodged itself in the midsection of the shinobi at whom she'd been aiming a punch. It would have split her right between the shoulder blades, she realized faintly as the world spun. _We survive, _she thought blurrily, _primarily on luck._ Or the intervention of gods. Or the absurdity of a universe which, like a child with toys, has not yet decided to throw them away.

Her vision twisted. She wondered briefly if this was the Sharingan at work, if Sasuke was snooping around somewhere, snickering at her like some evil elf. _Not,_ she thought wryly, _a very accurate depiction of Sasuke, _especially now, but Itachi was dead and Madara was gone, and who else had a Sharingan that might be used against her? But this wasn't a genjutsu, anyway. This was something else.

The stones underneath her knees shivered. Above her, a spasming shadow. Another enemy shinobi fell in front her, eyes blankly turned towards her knees as a shadow retracted from his neck. "Sakura-san." It came to her from far away. She screwed her eyes shut and swayed on her knees—put her hands on the ground for support. On all fours. Heaving, suddenly, not with sickness, but like she couldn't get enough oxygen in her lungs. She could feel something vibrating in her bones, but it felt oddly good—oddly strong. Her brain was _searing_ and yet did not hurt. Rattling breaths—they were hers. "_Sakura_," again, with more urgency. "Ne—are you alright?"

She lost herself then.

* * *

><p>When she woke, Sakura was somewhat surprised to find herself in the hospital. Not that this was an irregular occurrence—she frequently fell asleep at her desk or in the staff room after a long shift—but because the last thing she remembered was battle. <em>Am I hurt?<em> She tore the sheet, loosely tucked as per regulations, away from her body. No—a quick personal once-over showed her nothing was wrong. She was still wearing her field clothes and all of her gear was stacked on the bedside table. Her head hurt like someone had knocked her around, but there was no evidence of trauma. _What happened?_

"You're awake."

The unenthusiastic tone deserved its usual sarcastic response. "Evidently," she answered Shikamaru, who was leaning against the wall with a cigarette behind his ear. "How long have I been out?"

"Two hours."

This was a shock. "Oh." She frowned. "And the rogues?" Rogues were becoming ever more common these days, an unfortunate consequence of the war and general chaos of the previous years' rebuilding efforts. Thankfully, that usually meant that they were less capable than those you previously experienced on missions—there were more of them, but your chances of running into a true S-class were slim. She often felt sorry for them; what reason would so many have to go rogue? Their villages were weakened by conflict; their leaders were corrupt; distribution of social goods and needs was broken and inequitable. In states like that, the poor civilians died or revolted, the wealthy civilians took control, and the shinobi, if they had a scrap of individuality left, took flight. If they didn't, they stayed to serve a corrupted state.

Shikamaru shrugged. "Dispatched- knocked out, most of them, and we left them to their own devices. No serious injuries on our part. No point in killing them. Except for the one impaled by his friend's Fuuma, but that's not our business."

Okay, so that was good—at least no one had needed her. "I don't—what happened?"

"Lee carried you here. In record time, but that's Lee."

"No, I mean, did I—how did I get hurt?"

Shikamaru paused and, to her immense surprise, looked slightly confused. Uncomfortable. "I'm unsure. You, ah, collapsed. For no apparent reason."

"Collapsed? Embarrassing," she muttered. Glancing up, she noticed that he was still in his field togs as well. Had he stayed with her for two hours? He'd led the mission, but still, for Shikamaru this was decidedly odd behavior. "Was it—did I faint?" She couldn't recall seeing or doing anything that would have made her lose consciousness. She had a memory of the Fuuma shuriken, but only that it had decidedly _not_ gone through her.

"Not…exactly?" Why was he phrasing it like a question? Shikamaru sighed and shook his head, looked down at the toes of his boots. "You were on your hands and knees, and shaking. You didn't hear an enemy nin come for you—I had to take him out."

"That's unacceptable," she said, wincing.

"No," he said, seeing her face, "you really didn't hear anything. It wasn't just him. You were blind to us—just staring at the ground, breathing hard. It looked like panic."

Sakura processed this, fingering the hem of her shirt. "It sounds like a panic attack, yes," she said slowly. "That is—that's _embarrassing._" She couldn't get it out of her head—a jounin, an ANBU medic nin, apprentice of a Hokage and Legendary Sannin, practically the adopted child of the White Fang and sister to the two most famed nin in Konoha and, at this point, probably beyond—she'd suffered a panic attack in the middle of a battle? "It wasn't a genjutsu?" she offered, although she knew that if it had been she would have been able to tell.

"I don't believe so." He walked closer to her, which was alarming in and of itself—Shikamaru, she well knew, tended to stay separate from hospitals and people in hospitals. "Look, you also—you said to me, when you were shaky—low, and sort of, ah, frighteningly—you said, 'let me go.'"

"Frighteningly? Frighteningly, how?"

"Well, you know—" He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of it and pitched his voice lower, turning it into a sort of dark, animalistic growl. "_Let me go. _Like that. I wasn't holding you. Nor was anyone else. So you don't remember, at all, what you felt?"

She shook her head, nonplussed. "No, not in the slightest. I have a killer headache now, but that could be any number of things—including," she added morosely, "the aftereffects of a panic attack. I'm sorry you had to see that."

He was still frowning. "That's what you think it was? Panic attacks don't usually involve guttural roaring, as far as I know."

"Well, what _do_ you know?" she asked testily, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "What did the medics say?"

He ignored the slight. "They couldn't find anything wrong."

"Then nothing's wrong," she said simply, looking under the hospital bed for her shoes. Shikamaru handed them to her from their perch on the side table. "Thanks," she murmured, and when he continued to look at her as if her head had been cut off, she sighed. "Look, who looked at me—" She leaned over the bed, shoes in hand, and flipped her chart open—"Shizune? You had Shizune come to see me over a panic attack?" She scowled. "Well, there. I couldn't have done it better myself. If she didn't find anything, I'm fine." She shoved her feet into her boots with greater abandon than was probably warranted. Shikamaru looked on with a raised brow. She huffed at him. "Well, what? No problems, no worries."

"Sakura." He looked uncommonly alert, and serious. "That was an easy mission. Not ANBU and not high-rank. And we were coming home. What if you'd panicked during a serious strike, or during a stakeout? I didn't tell Shizune what you said—ne, what you _growled_ at me. I just told her you blacked out." He shifted on his feet and sighed again. "Get it checked out. Keep an eye on it."

She grabbed her pack from the floor, hefted it onto her shoulders, and signed her own chart with great flourish. Gave Shikamaru a look that one could only give one's team leader if one was Sakura. "Who," she said archly, throwing the clipboard back onto the bed, "is the medic now?"

Shikamaru had little choice but to follow her out of the room. He was itching for a cigarette.

* * *

><p>Now, she knew he was right.<p>

She was at home. Wasn't she? It was night. Yes? Everything was dark—her bedroom—_I'm in my room—_benefited from muffled moonlight sifting through the linen curtains at her window. All the trappings of her home life were illuminated by slivers of silver. But as she looked, they refracted, split; she blinked twice to restore them, only for it to happen again. She closed her eyes. _I can't breathe._ What time was it? How could she know? The clock. The clock. The clock.

She forced herself to turn her head; she felt like her neck needed to be oiled. Her bones, her joints, her very framework creaked. She felt the grinding of her muscles like a tooth being drilled. The clock. It was two forty-five in the morning. The clock. The clock. The clock. The red numbers shattered in front of her. She closed her eyes again. The world swam.

Her head, again, was searing—she remembered now, she could remember the feeling of heat and pain slicing her skull into slivers. She remembered falling on the ground. She remembered—

_**Hello again.**_

All was black when she opened her eyes, shocked at the voice. There she was, long-haired and young, black and white. A thirteen-year-old girl, still, but this time with a different voice: lower, more mature. Deadlier? Certainly more serious.

"Oh." Sakura found herself saying it rather than wanting to. Her stomach gave a lurch, but otherwise she felt fine—no more gasping, no more fractured vision. It was just her and her, black on a black background.

Her Inner put a hand on its—her—hip. _**Are you going to remember this one?**_

"This what?"

_**This meeting. You didn't remember the last. When that ridiculous Lee brought you to the hospital like a noble green steed.**_

"No, I—oh. Oh," she said, with dawning comprehension. "The panic attack."

_**If that's what you want to call it.**_

Sakura twisted her lips into a wry smile. "What would you call it? Or, we. What should we call it?"

_**Look, I can't help what it takes to get you here. You fight it.**_

Sakura felt distinctly nauseated now; her late dinner of rice and chicken stirring itself nastily in her stomach. "I was telling _you_ to let me go? Out loud? That's what Shikamaru heard?"

_**You don't like what I have to show you.**_

Bile at the back of her throat. She swallowed it down. "And what do you have to show me?"

And, suddenly: fire. Black fire and acid rain wearing away the Hokage carved into the mountain. Her parents' house up in flames. She was in the middle of the street, watching it all burn. She ran into the house as raindrops sizzled on her skin, shattering the door into splinters that seemed to aim for her eyes. "Father. Father! Mother—" When had she ever cared for her parents this much? Her heart seized as she ran through the kitchen, flames licking her mother's favorite copper pots. No one downstairs. She took the hallway to the rooms in leaps and bounds, slid the door open to her parents' room—

Tsunade, Kakashi, half-burned already, blackened pools forming underneath charred skin. Sakura felt bile rise at the back of her throat. Empty sockets where their eyes should be and no face, really, to even bother covering with a mask, _oh Kakashi, Kaka-sensai_, no, no, no—Tsunade made bald by fire and with a hand, eerily, and painted fingernails, still scrabbling at the floor with an awful skinny sound. Panic was rising, rising, rising in Sakura, right to the top of her chest; her throat closed, tears sparked at the corners of her eyes—

Sakura woke with a start, back to the silvery corners of her room—she took a moment to notice that she had twisted herself into sweaty sheets and wasted no time scrambling to the bathroom and heaving into the toilet.

Her head throbbed. Her arms shook. She felt another rush of—of _something_, something that started in her chest and swarmed in her head like angry bees, like Shino's bugs—and heaved again. Misery in the form of unwanted tears slid down her cheeks; she scrubbed them away with the back of her hand and waited for the next round. _Food poisoning,_ she thought. _Naruto didn't cook the chicken right. He never does._

_**You **_**know**_** that's utterly wrong.**_

Startled out of sickness, Sakura jerked upright, as if she'd heard Inner speaking to her from across the room. The sour taste in her mouth thickened. Carefully, she spat into the toilet bowl and, still gripping the sides of it, turned around to look into her room across the hall.

Nothing. No one.

"Well, why would she be there, anyway?" she asked herself in a whisper, horrified to hear that her voice was several steps higher than usual. _You're up here. Right?_

No answer.

_Hello?_

Nothing, thank goodness. Or maybe _not_ thank goodness. Sakura turned back around to face her mess; quickly, she ripped toilet paper from the roll, wiped the rim of the bowl, and flushed it all. Then she sat back on her heels and stared. _What is this?_

"Sakura-chan, you're sick?"

Of course someone would have heard—Naruto and Sai slept just doors away. She didn't look at him. "I think it's over now," she said.

With no qualms whatsoever—one thing to love about Naruto was that he never asked if you needed companionship, it was all just so willingly given—the next Hokage slumped to the tile floor, perpendicular to her, and started rubbing her back. He put a glass of water on the floor. The fact that he'd already gotten it for her before even entering the bathroom almost brought her around to crying again. "Was it my cooking?" he asked sheepishly.

Now she turned to look at him: Naruto was sleep-dazed, his eyes half-lidded and his hair a shock of blonde. When she met his eyes he grinned a little, that lopsided stretch that she could never keep from grinning back at. "I don't think so," she said, and wished her voice could've come out less tight. "That feels good, though. Thank you."

"'S nothing, anytime, Sakura-chan." Naruto was forever addressing people by their actual names—funny, Sakura though, how people rarely do that. But Naruto had always known about the power of names and naming. Not in a clan sense, but in a personal sense. He called people out by naming them. _Sakura-chan. Sasuke-teme. _It was a way of—of—not staking his claim, but of reminding her that he had stock in her and vice-versa, that she held claim to a piece of him, a deed to him which had her name scrawled on it in blood and history and memory.

Sakura swirled some water around her mouth and spat again. Emptied the whole glass and the sour taste in her mouth eased a little with that and Naruto's hand on her back. _Dreams._ Whatever made her pass out during the mission was unrelated to her confrontation with Inner Sakura today. There was no reason—_no_ reason, she thought vehemently—for Inner to come back in such a surge and with such violence. Not after so many years of keeping it all buried. Unless foul play was involved—some genjutsu, which seemed deeply unlikely now that Shikamaru, Shizune, and herself had all checked up on her—this was just a fluke. A nightmare left over from her fainting spell, or moment of panic, or whatever.

Naruto's hand was still making soft circles at her back. "I've got to brush my teeth," she said finally.

"Mmkay," said her roommate, eyes still closed, stilling his hand. He kept it resting comfortably on her foot when she stood and brushed vigorously at the sink, plucking at her toes to tickle her, which she promptly kicked him for. He snickered. "Will you sleep alright?"

She looked at herself in the mirror. Hair a mess, hanging down in crippled waves to right above the curve of her breasts, quite plainly visible in a well-thieved old shirt of Naruto's—not that she could bring herself to care around her old friend, not anymore. She should cut her hair again. Her eyes roved, taking in the changes of the past couple of years: a more defined face, a light scar above her temple, and circles under her eyes left over from the mission. Her eyes were green and watchful. Her arms were strong, gripping the sink. She wrinkled her nose, made a face. "I'll be fine, Naruto, thanks."

Another "mmkay." He forced himself to his feet again and looked in the mirror with her. Grinned and placed his chin atop her head. "You're still so short, Sakura-chan."

"You've gotten less cute."

"Hey!"

She smirked and made to walk away, but at the last moment he snagged her in a hug from the back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and dragging her back to the mirror. "Take a look," he said, softer than was customary for Naruto. "We're older."

She did look. He was smiling at the thought, as if he'd never really believed it would be the case—as if he was close to the life he'd imagined. Sakura supposed he was. The thought made a bubble of her breath, one that rose into the tips of her in a soft, pleasant way. "Better than the alternative," she said, and batted him away when he kissed the top of her head. "You're getting all romantic, baka, get off. Don't you have a girlfriend to woo?"

He followed her out of the bathroom and sighed. "It's more like wooing her father, really."

Sakura laughed. "Then if you do a successful job, you'll have wooed two Hyuugas for the price of one."

"I don't want to date Neji!" he joked. The whiskers turned up. Thank all the gods, all of them, for Naruto's smile. "Haah... g'night, Sakura-chan."

"Good night."

She closed the door and padded back to her bed; the clock read three-fifty AM. Determined not to re-vision her horrific nightmares and anxious to leave waking life with as pleasant an image as Naruto smiling at his doorknob and thinking of Hinata, who probably stood for no such visions of hell, Sakura passed a chakra-laden hand over her head, putting herself neatly and blessedly to sleep.

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><p>She woke up starving—unsurprising, considering her early-morning purge-fest—and late.<p>

Tsunade wasn't happy about her tardiness. "What is the point, I ask you," she said testily, gripping her tea probably too tightly, "of asking me to wake up early for a morning meeting when you're not going to be here on time?"

Sakura huffed. "I'm _ten minutes_ late, shishou, when did you even come into your office? Thirty seconds ago?"

"All the same. I think you've been spending too much time with your old teacher."

"I, also, get lost on the road of life."

"Oh, shut up," Tsunade said, but Sakura saw her suppress a smile. "Take a seat. Reports?"

"Nothing exceptional," Sakura answered, flipping through a paper-clipped packet, "and this is all second-hand, remember, I was away for four days. A couple civilians came in from travel emergencies—rogue nin, attacking merchants. That, at least, seems to be getting worse. They had guards with them and the rogues didn't press them, so they came in for shock more than anything else. Four nin came back from missions with minor injuries—two chuunin, one jounin, one from an ANBU mission. ANBU had a kunai in his hand, removed easy, no resting recovery time. The two chuunin had minor poisoning—gas, it says, nothing special." Sakura paused in her litany, briefly, but enough so that Tsunade flicked her eyes up. "Jounin was unconscious."

"From what?"

_Fuck me, I can never trick her. _Sakura shrugged. "Doesn't say. Fainted. Shizune checked it out and couldn't find anything."

Tsunade elegantly raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. "A jounin _fainted?_ What, pray tell, does a jounin have the right to _faint_ for? That's not an acceptable reaction. That's genin-level stuff."

Sakura felt her mouth turn down at the corners. "You already know it was me, shishou, don't play."

Her mentor snickered. "But it's such fun! You think you can go to the hospital—as a patient—and not have word come back to me? Fool," she said fondly. "Shizune let me know as soon she was done looking at you."

Sakura sighed as her stomach made an angry growl. "What'd she say?"

With a shrug and a sip—"That she didn't see anything. You stood up too fast, maybe, or just had a moment after four days of work. It happens."

"It's embarrassing."

"Well, sure. But you work yourself too hard. It was only a matter of time before you conked out at some point."

_But in the middle of a punch? _Sakura wanted to ask. She pushed it aside. "Alright then. That's all for this week. Is there anything I should know about, pre-shift?"

Tsunade tapped a fingernail on the desk. "I don't think so. Hospital-specific, you'd have to ask Shizune. But I'm getting a little concerned about these rogues tailing the civilians. And even more concerned about the civs hiring guards from other villages. Why not ask for chuunin—or even a genin team? They'd probably be more use than sellswords."

"Don't they ask?"

"They don't. And we have some to spare. I think I'll start offering them as B-class missions. It'll be less for the merchants than what they pay their guards from out of town, so it should be attractive in that sense."

Sakura slid the week's report to Tsunade's side of the desk and stood to take her leave. This was a matter for a council. She wondered, briefly, if her parents hired shinobi when they left town. "That'll take a lot of shinobi out of the village all at once."

Tsunade smiled at her, maybe a little grimly. "Don't you know, Sakura," she said, "you don't have to think like we're still at war. I wouldn't leave the village unprotected just to force chuunin on our civilians. We do have a system for dispatching people on missions, you know."

Sakura blinked and chuckled at herself. "True. Sorry. I wasn't trying to say that you weren't prepared."

"Don't apologize," said the Legendary Sucker, waving her out the door. "It's hard to think, but you've never really lived _out_ of war. This is your chance to learn what it's like before we get sucked up in another."

* * *

><p>She was still tucking in her medic's shirt when she ran into Shikamaru. "Oof—sorry, Shika-san. Back already?"<p>

He rubbed his stomach. "Eh... you might have to get a room for me after that. Did you know that your elbows are essentially kunai?"

She prodded him in the chest. "I can arrange a hospital room for you _if you'd like._"

"Yare, yare, always the threats." He raised his hands above his head surrender-style and she smiled too sweetly at him, continuing down the hallway. To her surprise, Shikamaru followed her fast clip, walking with an apparently lazy shuffle that somehow propelled him as quickly as she was going. "I'm getting Ino for an early lunch. So troublesome. She insists that we have 'family dinners.'"

"Hardly dinnertime."

"I'm getting to that," he said. "I slept through the last one—" Sakura snorted—"I know, but I did, so now I have to treat her to lunch."

"Oh, _lunch_." She sighed, pouted for emphasis. "My poor, empty stomach. No Chouji?"

"He's away. A-class to Suna at the behest of the Kazekage. Some kind of clan exchange."

"Oh, the behest?" Sakura laughed and turned around to face him, pulling on her gloves and pressing into the door to the recovery ward to open it. "How elegant."

"I've been writing a lot of diplomatic couriers for the Hokage," he said. "It's a pain in the ass."

"But it's done much to improve your vocabulary," she teased. He sighed, disengaging from the banter, and followed Sakura down the hallway lined with open doors, walls whitewashed. Peeking into the rooms he saw some shinobi sleeping—they'd take any chance they could get—as well as civilians reading or talking to family members. Sakura stopped at the only closed door, looked inside through the small, rectangular window on the door, and sighed, dropping her face back down. "Neji-san."

Shikamaru looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You don't like Hyuuga Neji?"

"No, no, he's fine, a good leader. Quite the gentleman," she said, inexplicably. "But as his medic…"

Shikamaru 'tch'd. "You're often on his ANBU team, that's right. Bet he doesn't ever stand to be treated on missions."

She giggled—a light sound that Shikamaru realized he rarely heard from her anymore, after everything. "At least you recognize that it's more 'troublesome' to wait to get home and die."

He snorted. "Thanks, I think. So what's wrong with the fearless leader today?"

Sakura gave him a look. "That's none of your business, Nara-san. Doctor-patient confidentiality." She checked the clipboard. "_But_, it looks like nothing serious. Routine checkup and rest following a long mission. Now get out of here, go have lunch. I'll see Ino after but give her hair a yank for me anyway."

"I won't," he said immediately. He paused—took the cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it in his mouth, unlit. "Do you want anything?"

Her hand was on the door. She glanced at him almost suspiciously. "Shikamaru, why are you being so nice?"

He tutted and looked like he was about to retort sarcastically; then he didn't. He looked at the ceiling instead. _Probably looking for patterns in the tiles,_ Sakura thought, bemused. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

She blinked. "I'm fine."

Shikamaru mouthed his cigarette a little. Sighed. "Just checking up on a teammate. Don't have to be so defensive."

Sakura stared at him. "How much—" _How much did I scare you?_ "Um."

He suddenly started walking away—that was so Shikamaru, just to shuffle past when he wanted to. She snarled at his back and he waved a hand in goodbye, not turning around. "I'll get something to bring back for you," he said, and before she could say "Th-thank you!" the door was swinging behind him.

* * *

><p>Neji couldn't see her face, but he watched her hands—they were small, but limber, and obviously knew what they were doing. He wondered if she even thought about it anymore or if healing was now so natural that it had embedded in her memory, a physical code that she only had to tap into in order to work miracles.<p>

This was the way their healing sessions usually went: silently. They'd have blazing arguments in the field—or quiet, terse ones, depending on _where _in the field—about him being treated at all. But when it got down to business, he respected that she knew what she was doing and she respected his insistence on privacy and peace. It was one of the key aspects of their occasional partnership, particularly in ANBU. He'd recently been informally named as the best ANBU squad leader to come to the fore in ten years, a fact of which he was not a little proud of, but he had to admit that his frequent appeals to the Hokage to get Haruno Sakura on his team were part of that honor. He hadn't lost a single team member since his idea to pull her onboard for difficult missions. After watching her save the life of the Kazekage and then having his own life saved by her quick thinking and skillful surgery in the war, _not _asking for her would have been foolish. And—somewhat surprisingly—the Hokage always accepted quite quickly. He'd known that Sakura's work at the hospital was very important, and he'd also had a sneaking suspicion that creating an 'ANBU medic' went completely against the Hokage's idea of what a medic should do, which was to stay alive. But Sakura had accepted the porcelain mask with a fierce smile and had worn it well over the past year, working closely with every revolving squad-member.

She spoke, jolting him out of his thoughts—not that he actually, physically jolted. "Can you keep a commentary on how this feels?" she murmured. "I'm going to go deeper into the muscle. You've got a tear here that needs fixing but I don't want to strain you."

He nodded, then remembered that she was bent over his left shoulder and wouldn't have seen. "Yes."

"Start now." She put a hand lightly on his back and he moved forward obligingly, leaning over his knees on the hospital bed. "Any pain?"

"None." It felt quite nice, actually. Her hands were cool on his skin but the sensation of chakra running over his muscles was something close to warmth. Very different from in the field, where it took on a heat, almost a sear, that was a little uncomfortable (although generally nothing compared to the injuries that warranted her touch). "A little now. An ache, not sharp." He supposed the difference was that here, in the hospital, she didn't have to conserve anything for fighting. She could temper and mold her chakra to one purpose only.

"That's a good thing," she said quietly. "I'm repairing the tear, but it'll be tender for a while. Did this hurt before?"

"Not that I noticed."

She snorted. "Well, pay more attention. It's not a little nick. It's close to a tenketsu, too. Sparring too heavily with Hinata?"

Neji frowned at his forearms. "Perhaps," he said in rare conversationalism. "I may have overreached to get away from her. She's becoming formidably fast."

He felt rather than saw Sakura's smile. "You have to get fast if you're gonna deal with Naruto." He stiffened and winced; the movement had forced Sakura's chakra deeper than it was supposed to go. "Neji-san! Don't move when I'm doing that, I could seriously hurt you!" She removed her chakra from his back and settled the other hand on his shoulder, gripping it firmly until he relaxed again. The warmth returned a moment later. "I wasn't insinuating anything bad," she chuckled. "I was talking about his kage bunshin."

"They've been sparring?"

"Er… of a sort." This time she removed her hand before he could turn around and face her, and this time she really laughed—laughed!—at his glare. "Neji, Neji-san, I'm kidding! I'm kidding, I'm sorry, you just—" She dissolved again into chuckles and smiled broadly at him. "They _are_ sparring. Not like Naruto would ever land a punch on her."

"You're not being very professional," he complained, and even to him it sounded like whining, so he wasn't surprised when she rolled her eyes.

"You're haven't been very conversational," she retorted. "One more time. Relax. I'll be done in a second." For the third time, he felt the shimmering of her chakra in his shoulder. Medics, he thought absently, should enter into the massage business. Much more money in that, and a much more pleasant business. Shinobi were forever using their talents for one purpose. The smart ones 'retired' and made thousands providing services to civilians: personal guards, physical trainers, even business strategists. "Not to worry," Sakura was saying, her mouth positioned in the space between his ear and the bedframe. Her hair, up in a ponytail, was tickling his back distractingly, but he didn't say anything against it. "Naruto's so terrified of Hiashi-sama I doubt they've done much besides kiss yet."

"Haruno, please stop this conversation," he muttered, wishing only for silence. The comforting feeling of her chakra combined very oddly with the severely disturbing notion of Uzumaki Naruto kissing his cousin. "You are not helping."

"That is _exactly_ what I'm doing," she said, withdrawing at last and wiping a hand on her forehead—she had been concentrating after all, apparently. "The more you get used to the idea—dare I say, the image—of Naruto giving your dear cousin mouth-to-mouth—"

"Hn."

"—the easier it'll be when you finally come across it in the streets."

"The _streets?_" He regretted the upward tilt to his tone immediately; she looked too pleased with herself. "Hiashi-sama would die on the spot."

Sakura, who'd had her fair share of encounters with the Hyuuga patriarch and his uncanny ability to unravel her temper completely, grimaced. "Maybe then he'd finally go to the damn hospital."

"Still wouldn't be willingly."

Sakura laughed again, shaking her head in wonder and making some notes on his file. "Neji-san! Did you just make a joke?"

He leaned back against the bedframe again and favored her with a small grin. "Probably not. How did it look?"

She reflected for a moment on how nearly dying can change a person; had she ever heard this man joke before the war? "It's fine back there. You need to be gentle on that left shoulder is all—just for a week or so, ice and rest and so forth. I'd still recommend that you stay in the hospital for another night—don't give me that look—just in case. You were gone for a long time."

"Am I not usually the one giving orders?"

She scowled at him. "You're not my taichou in here," she said menacingly, "and don't forget it. If I say you stay another night, stay another night. I'm giving you the _minimum _prescribed time for hospital rest after a high-intensity mission."

"Minimum sentence, you mean," he muttered when she turned back to the clipboard, hoping that she'd hear and make a big deal of it, but no dice. Neji assumed she wasn't in the mood, which was a shame, because hospital stays were tedious and arguments with Haruno Sakura at least tended to be interesting. "Before you leave."

"Mm?" she asked, tucking the clipboard back on the bedframe. She had what he considered the mild audacity to lean by the foot of his bed. He gestured to his eyes. "Oh! Right. Thanks for reminding me. Just a quick look, then." She scooted closer to him on the bed and placed two chakra-infused fingers at his temples; a thumb went softly to each cheekbone. She closed her eyes. "I'm ready when you are."

"Byakugan."

Through his kekkei genkai he saw her chakra move fluidly from place to place, darting like streams of rabbits. It always looked only jerky, chakra did, despite how it often manifested in attacks. The diamond at her forehead circulated a vast amount, compressed well but pulsing with energy. He wondered if she got headaches, looking at her face, which was screwed up in concentration as her chakra traveled to his optic nerve, to the engorged veins around his eyes, over the retina—always a weird sensation—and then back again. He deactivated as she removed her hands. "It all looks fine," she said, frowning, not really noticing him. "I wonder, then, what it is about the Sharingan—I mean, there's no wear on your visual system, none at all—but it's very interesting, you know, I can see exactly what changes are being made in the way the sensory input goes to the brain. It's almost like your chakra splits the signal so it goes in two different directions from the nerve—I wonder why you don't get visions or hallucinations—"

She was awfully close, one hand at her chin in thought and the other resting on his shoulder from where she'd dropped it from his temple, and Neji looked at her, interested in her medical meanderings until he saw something hard and angry flit across her face. Her eyes seemed to literally darken, and her face set; her hand on his shoulder gripped a little tighter. _Lost in a bad thought,_ he told himself, and coughed delicately. "Sakura-san, I don't think this looks particularly professional, either."

"Hm?" Sakura looked up and he got a face-full of green; she nearly brushed noses with him. Letting out a noise that sounded something like "gleep!" Sakura sprang back. She stood, admirably stonefaced despite the shock of their proximity and no traces remaining of her curiously hardened eyes of just seconds ago. "Apologies, Neji-san. Thanks for letting me do that with the Byakugan. It's awfully instructive."

"Of course. The family is anxious to see your reports on it."

"It's funny that kekkai genkai users know so little about how it all works," she murmured, gathering her things from the counter opposite his bed. "No offence."

"None taken. Nara is outside, by the way," Neji intoned. "Presumably waiting for you."

"How did you—ah." She tapped her temple. "Magic eyes."

"Quite."

"Well, good," she said, walking towards the door. "I'm starving. Rest, Neji-san. I'll come in again tomorrow morning and spring you from your cell."

"Hn."

"And I'll take that as a goodbye!" She pushed the door open and he saw her grin widely, clutching her stomach. "Shika-san, you're a prince among men, thank you _so much_—"

"Yare, yare, it's just a bento—"

Neji watched the door swing closed, and open, and closed again, pendulum-like, until Sakura's voice faded down the hall.


	2. pathogenesis

A/N: Thanks to all those who read and/or reviewed! Good criticism is always appreciated, and I try to respond to every review.

I'm not sure these are even ever necessary, but as a general disclaimer for the whole work: I do not own any single microscopic bit of Naruto, or Sakura would have started kicking ass much earlier in the series.

This, however, might be necessary: This story is rated M for a reason, even if it's not evident quite yet. It's partly for language, partly for forthcoming adult situations (not necessarily sex, although, you know, _maybe_), but mostly because it will describe situations and sensations of panic, PTSD, and other mental health issues. Consider this a trigger warning of sorts.

Okay, chapter two!

* * *

><p><strong>two: pathogenesis<strong>

Sakura slept that night with no problems—no night terrors, no burning bodies, no voices in her head—and woke up later than usual, lounging in her futon for as long as she could justify it. For a few moments she stared at the light shifting on her bedspread, a plain white and navy striped duvet she'd gotten half-price when they'd all moved in together and she'd eagerly left the trappings of her parent's house behind. _Well. Not all. _Not Sasuke. But what had she expected, really, once he'd finally come home? There comes a point in a long-suffering friendship in which the passage of distance and time becomes too much; when the elasticity of love and devotion is worn too thin to stretch over that last obstacle. It breaks. Things break. _If it was even a friendship in the first place._

She banished that particular thought at once. Hating Sasuke and doubting even his twelve-year-old self was as stupid and self-indulgent as ignoring his later crimes. Better not to think of him at all, if she could help it. How Naruto still kept regular contact with him was beyond her. For someone with such severely limited emotional maturity, her blonde demon-holder had extraordinary emotional strength.

Enough, enough. As was habit now, Sakura took stock of herself: stretched the perennially sore muscles in her shoulders, gave her neck a rub, flexed her toes. Hesitated before closing her eyes and waiting, in the quiet of the morning, for something to happen.

_Are you up there?_

…_no?_

_Good._

Sai was already in the kitchen, drinking dark tea and looking out the window. This was normal behavior: it seemed that whenever he was home he was in the kitchen. Sakura couldn't remember many mornings in which she walked into an empty room to make her coffee. What made it curious was that he didn't cook—ever. He'd so far never even attempted. Naruto tried with eager grins and the best of intentions but was only ever capable of making a decent ramen, for which he'd rather go to Ichiraku anyway. The end result was that Sakura wound up doing most of the cooking out of sheer need. Sai often watched, but never offered assistance beyond retrieving pots or pans or other kitchenware upon her request; so she wondered, every morning, why he seemed so attached to their small, dingy kitchen.

"Good morning, Hag," he said amiably, turning to give her that famous close-eyed smile, and she wondered at it again.

Her knees cracked as she crossed to the stove. Everything seemed to crack nowadays, but then again, maybe that had always been the case and now it was just quiet enough to notice. She sighed at her usual nickname. "Morning, Sai."

"I heard you rustling. There is coffee."

_King of small kindnesses_. She had a nicer tone now. "Thank you, Sai."

"Mm."

Usually she just left it at that. She wasn't a very talkative morning person and Sai was someone with whom it was eerily easy to fall into a comfortable silence. But today, standing on tiptoe to retrieve her misshapen mug from the top shelf of the cupboard (Naruto had made it for her in an ill-fated attempt at artistry and presented it with many jokes about how it was really from the Akatsuki member Deidara and thus might explode in his hands unless she actually accepted it), she paused. "Are you… are you sketching?"

Sai looked momentarily surprised, which was a victory in and of itself. "I am not," he answered. "Only looking."

"What at? Peeping on the neighbors?" She cracked a grin while pouring coffee but her bad joke went forth uncommented upon.

"I am watching the way the sun changes the look of things," Sai said. His tone, as always, was matter-of-fact, as if he didn't understand why she should have wondered otherwise. "Especially in the morning, you can see this. The shifting of shadows."

Something about the way he said it made Sakura shiver, even though she'd been watching the same thing only moments ago in bed. She walked to stand by his side and rested an elbow comfortably upon his shoulder, a liberty she'd recently begun to take. Human touch was still so new for Sai that she often felt a responsibility to remind him that it was acceptable and normal and good. Heavens knew she didn't get along with her parents much now, but she'd had a childhood in which she'd been loved, physically and emotionally, with hugs and kisses as currency and proof. It was something she realized long ago that differentiated her from Naruto the orphaned (not orphan, orphan_ed_, she pointed out to him vehemently), and Sasuke the betrayed and Sai the un-remembering. Coming from a civilian family was a benefit in some ways.

"The shifting of shadows, eh?" She squeezed his shoulder. "Can you phrase that differently? You were talking about light."

"It is the same thing," her fourth teammate said dispassionately. "Look: you can see it on the hill behind that home. The light moves. It bends things to your eyes."

Sakura looked instead at Sai. She felt an unreasonable rush of affection and removed her hand for fear of launching at him with a hug and completely derailing the morning's progress. _That is how we measure things. One moment at a time._ "Thanks again for the coffee, Sai. It's good."

"At this point, I know how you like it," he said, smile back on. "Three scoops per cup and a half. That means we are even better friends, I think, than we were before. Perhaps even better than you and Uchiha Sasuke. I imagine he does not know your coffee preferences."

Her friend Uchiha Sasuke, alone in rented rooms that looked directly at the Uchiha compound—he'd always been a martyr—and appearing to her once a week for a relatively silent sparring session during which she never once showed him her back. "I'd imagine he doesn't." Sakura grinned back at him, masking the jolt that Sasuke's name had sent up her spine, and didn't protest when Sai put a hand on her hip and squeezed, like she had to his shoulder—experimentally at first, a light touch, and then a firmer one. She should have punched him for it but some transgressions, at least, can be let go.

* * *

><p>Neji looked irked, so she kept doing what she was doing—scribbling notes, looking up at him and then down and scribbling some more. Nothing was worth getting the light-eyed genius truly angry, but giving him some grief was a small mercy on what was quickly becoming a long day. Sakura could tell that he didn't enjoy being written about without being talked to; he was, if such a thing was possible, actually <em>fidgety<em> in the hospital bed, constantly grasping and letting go of the sheets. She worked hard to keep a straight face when she looked up again and took note of his evident frustration. "Could you stand," she asked carefully, keeping the veneer of professionalism intact, "and stretch that left shoulder for me? See how it feels."

He growled and got to his feet. "Would you like me to twirl, as well?"

"I've seen you twirl," she said with a dismissive hand-wave.

"Kaiten is not _twirling_." Was that a whine? Sakura felt giddy from a good morning and good coffee. Maybe she should tell Sai to do one less half-scoop.

"Whatever it is, you do it nicely," she said gently, as if soothing a small child, which she knew would just irritate him further. "But just the stretch will do for now."

He did as asked, moving his arm slowly. "It's… better."

"You sound hesitant about that."

"Only reluctant. You receive too much praise as it is." He looked serious, but she chuckled, writing something else on his chart, at which he frowned—as she knew he would. _These people are too easy,_ she thought. After so many years of treating them all, the reactions of the Konoha Eleven were well known to her. It pleased and frightened in equal measure. "You've written quite a lot about a minor injury," Neji remarked, almost snidely.

How very Hyuuga Neji to attack exactly where it might hurt: right in the professionalism. But she'd foreseen that. "'A good medic leaves nothing out,'" she quoted serenely. "So Tsunade-shishou says. Not like she does it, but it's still a good practice."

It was evident that only supreme willpower kept him from rolling his eyes. "I can't imagine you've written so much about my shoulders."

"Oh, you should see my diary," she said, quite without thinking—it was something she might say to Naruto or Kakashi or Kiba, paired with an exaggerated wink—and was rewarded by a flash of confusion and then consternation on Neji's face when she chanced another look. Sakura snickered and stood. "Neji-san, you're a stoic. I'll sign you out today, but I'm asking—practically begging—that you take it easy for another two days. No sparring, and if you train—who am I kidding, of course you'll train—just don't overexert yourself. You don't have anything coming up?"

He looked vaguely relieved and immediately retrieved his rucksack and flak jacket from the side table. "Not so far as I'm aware. Although." He didn't continue, but Sakura knew. _Although you never know. Although ANBU missions crop up, always, at the worst times._

_**Ain't that the truth.**_

Sakura froze in the act of getting up from her chair. In the corner of her eye Neji, who had begun to move to the door, stopped and raised a quizzical brow in her direction. But in the corner of her other eye: a blackness, a tunnel that wavered in the periphery of her vision. Her head throbbed and her ears rang; she whipped her head around once, twice. Nothing. The tunnel diminished and the bells in her ears ceased their tolling. She felt herself exhale.

"Haruno."

_Agh._ She blinked and turned to her perceptive patient, who had taken a step towards her. He was frowning. "Nothing, nothing," she said preemptively, smiling bright. "Just a crick in my neck—you know. Long day. I'm tired."

He didn't look convinced, maybe because it was only ten o'clock in the morning, but also didn't press. "Medics are notorious for not taking their own advice."

Eager to show that nothing had happened, that she was responding as sassily as he would expect at a slight on her abilities or judgment, Sakura marched past him to the door and opened it, cocking her hip and putting a hand on it, Ino-style. "Never took you for a mothering type."

He didn't dignify that with a response; merely frowned at her again and took the door from her grasp. "After you."

Something about the whole situation was making her exceedingly nervous. Not looking at or responding to the ANBU captain's gentility, Sakura walked briskly away, heart hammering a frantic tattoo against her chest. She raced past the rooms of the recovery ward and pushed the doors to the main lobby with a bit too much force; they crashed loudly against the walls, drawing eyes to the sight of a flustered med-nin skittering away and her frequent captain following slower. Sakura huffed at the stares of her nurses and quickly turned the corner, ducking into the staff room, before changing her mind just as quickly—_I'm being a total fool_—and barging back out. Neji, thankfully, was nowhere to be found. "Nami," she called a nurse, pressing charts into her arms, "look at my patients, please? I have to go to the Hokage."

"Sakura-san?" Nami nearly dropped the charts; Sakura had released them too quickly. "You've got a meeting with Shizun—"

"I know, I'll be back in time, I just have to speak with Hokage-sama for a moment." Without waiting for a response, Sakura flung off her white hospital coat and draped it over the nurse's table; she chattered as she exited the hospital, walking backwards to the doors and calling back to Nami's wide-eyed face. "Thanks so much, Nami, really, I appreciate it. I'll go back for them later, tell them all they'll have a medic visit. Just do preliminaries, okay—thanks!"

And out into the day. A shockingly beautiful one—Konoha autumns were always pleasant, but this one eclipsed all the others she'd seen. The streets were thronged with people on their lunch hours, walking and talking, sitting on benches and eating food from stands. Trees were shedding their leaves in occasional breezes in gleeful strips of yellow and burnished red. It looked beautiful. But she felt the film of her eyes over everything. She could see the swirl of things in the fluid between lens and retina. Sakura blinked and squinted as she walked, but it was no vision problem—it was more like her quality of perception had diminished, as if there was something blocking her brain from reproducing the real world _in toto_. People moved in and out of her line of sight like extras on a scene. The world was a vision-blistering array of colors and shapes she couldn't quite see; the murmurs and gobbets of conversation that passed her were things she wanted to snatch at and press to her. Who ordered you flowers? What was his name? You fucked which chuunin? Pork for dinner tonight, oh—Her feet were carrying her too fast. She had a brief fear of tripping and forced herself to calm down. _One step at a time, pinkie,_ she thought to herself. _Just get there._

"Sakura, hey!" The familiar voice set Sakura's teeth on edge for no reason. Ino was waving at her from a street-side stall, clad in her own medic's uniform and flanked by Kiba and Chouji and another jounin whose name was Kazuo, who also waved, Chouji doing so with a mouthful of noodles. Sakura found herself grinning, but it felt automatic—a Sai smile. "Are you on break? Want to join us?"

"No, sorry—meeting Tsunade-shishou," she said hurriedly. She didn't stop, which Ino blinked at—Tsunade was so customarily late that even when Sakura was going to meet her she often stalled for a while on her way. But Sakura didn't feel like talking to them, not when everything felt so out of focus, even though she knew Ino would comment on it later. Not when she'd heard Inner Sakura's snide tones in waking life. In the middle of a meeting with a patient. When that patient was her frequent ANBU captain.

_Not cool,_ she thought with a forceful and false bravado, hoping that Inner—were she still there—got the message. The dark mental snicker that followed raised the hair on the back of Sakura's neck and she immediately sped up, nearing a jog as she got to the Hokage's tower and, once inside, taking the stairs four at a time. Izumo and Kotetsu were—predictably—lounging in the reception area outside of her office. "Aaah, Sakura-chan!" Kotetsu cooed. "Missed us already?"

"Of course," she said, a little out of breath. "Tsunade-shishou is in?"

"She is," Izumo answered, smiling slightly.

Kotetsu nodded. "Doing her _actual paperwork_, if you can believe it—"

"I can hear you two idiots," the Hokage called from behind the door.

Kotetsu grinned charmingly. "I think you know your way in."

Sakura nodded and brushed past them—opened and closed the Hokage's door and sat immediately in her usual spot in front of the desk, mouth a little dry from exertion and nerves. Tsunade was sitting with her feet on her desk and a book in her lap; a telltale bottle clinked as Sakura sat. "You aren't doing your paperwork."

Tsunade used both arms to gave a rather expansive "duh" gesture, then sat straight in front of her student and took her in: mussed hair, medic uniform still on—meaning that she'd come mid-shift—hands clasped tightly and shoved between her thighs, mouth pressed thinly together. Sakura knew she looked frightful. Fearful. Tsunade's eyes flicked up and down again. She sat back, steepled her fingers, and licked her lips. "Okay, fool," she said slowly, "what's going on?"

Sakura told her.

* * *

><p>Tsunade had narrowed eyes and pursed lips, which Sakura thought was somewhat comforting—it meant that the Hokage was taking her seriously, not laughing it off or telling her to just get more sleep. It was a thinking pose, and indeed she took a long time to answer, swiveling back and forth in her chair as she processed Sakura's story.<p>

It had turned into a long tale. Sakura had, for some reason, felt it necessary to cast all the way back to her childhood, to Inner Sakura's more vehement but innocent presence as an internal release from her mother's constant lessons on etiquette and proper femininity, from her attempts to just be nice and kind and pleasant with the boys of Team Seven rather than ripping off their heads—or their clothes—as she'd often wanted to do. Now, sitting across from the Hokage, Sakura felt a little foolish about having spilled her guts to such an extent (particularly, she realized with sudden shame, if Izumo and Kotetsu had been listening at the door like the little children they were). But it had seemed pertinent to describe her youth with Inner, necessary, even, in order to explain why her sudden resurgence—and the violence of it, especially—was notable.

"How much of this—of 'Inner Sakura'—was present during your apprenticeship with me?" Tsunade asked finally.

Sakura almost snorted, knowing how Inner would have rejected being spoken about in air quotes—and immediately stopped. _Don't be any more ridiculous than you already have been. _"Occasionally," she answered. "In the beginning—when I got frustrated with you, or with myself. But with, I dunno… maturity? I got much better at tamping her down. Or letting her—I guess—funneling her through. Physically. You always wondered why I was so fast to pick up on the, you know, actual exertion of chakra—the physical pushing-out—" She pushed her hand out and chakra briefly flared there. "That was her. Or me using her. She stopped speaking and ended up as a… as a force, instead."

Tsunade's voice was level, but Sakura could tell that she was concerned. "You speak about it as if Inner Sakura is a…real person."

"That's how she appears to me," Sakura said honestly, shaking her head. "I know it sounds insane. She _is _a different person. She used to be a friend, or like a piece of me that I could—could speak with and relate to like a friend. Someone who helped me, oddly enough, when the others couldn't. Or didn't," she added.

Her mentor raised an eyebrow. "Are you talking about Kakashi?"

Sakura sighed—she didn't want to give the wrong impression. "Yes, sort of. But it's not really about that. I'm not bitter—or at least," she amended quickly, "I'm not bitter anymore. Kakashi-sensei did what he felt he had to do; Sasuke and Naruto were both more talented and more dangerous to themselves and to others than I was, or than I seemed, or than I seemed to want to be. I don't begrudge him focusing on what he saw as the more important things."

Tsunade's lips quirked. "Suppose he wasn't looking underneath the underneath, after all. I don't mind; now I can take credit for your meteoric rise."

Despite herself, Sakura gave a little laugh at that. "Suppose so. But really, I'm not trying to blame it on anyone but myself. Inner Sakura was just—she was—is—well." Sakura took a breath and exhaled, searching for the right words. "She was what came out of being alone. And she stayed, I guess, until I felt like I wasn't. Alone. Anymore." She felt herself blushing. "Your mentoring meant a lot more than you knew, I think," she muttered, and looked away as Tsunade's lips curled again for fear that she'd see her mentor's face soften.

A beat, and her Hokage was gruff again. "Well, good. I'm a damn good teacher. But so—this new stuff. I'd imagine, since chakra control helped you calm it down—calm her down—that chakra control is now the problem."

Sakura was sure her confusion showed. "I don't think I've gotten _worse_ at chakra control since my chuunin years, shishou."

"Nor do I," Tsunade said wryly, standing up from her chair and beginning to pace. "But you've gotten remarkably better, even from starting with skill. And one thing especially has changed—you've come to use Sōzō Saisei. And you've got tons of compressed chakra—" she tapped the diamond on Sakura's forehead—"pressed right here. Right against your frontal lobe."

Sakura hissed despairingly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"There's a reason you're still the mentee and I'm Hokage," Tsunade said pompously, smiling when Sakura rolled her eyes. "You say that when Inner Sakura now comes to the fore—no pun intended—it feels like a panic attack?"

"Yes," she said, now rubbing the diamond on her forehead with a frown. "But that'd be a neuronal thing, not a problem with chakra."

"You think so?" Sakura looked up to answer, but it was evidently a rhetorical question; Tsunade was leaning against the window now, looking at her hands with a frown that seemed self-directed. "Chakra moving outside of its designated pathways can interfere with mental and bodily function—you know that. Genjutsu is essentially someone forcing their chakra into your central nervous system, but it extends beyond basic midbrain functions. You see, hear, smell, taste, and think things you wouldn't otherwise. No one is completely sure of how it all works, even shinobi like Kurenai who specialize in it, who create new jutsu. Sharingan users might understand it in a little more depth, but not in a way they could explain. And of course, they're usually more concerned with using it than understanding it." She smiled a bitter smile, reflected back at Sakura from the window. "In my experience."

"Yes, well, in mine, too. But," Sakura said, in what she knew was obvious frustration, "I'm not forcing chakra into my own head like a genjutsu would. I'm storing a little bit at a time in a concentrated space, same as you have for years. I'd know if I was losing any to my brain. And besides, these aren't—"

"Aren't what?" Tsunade was still looking out, tapping a nail on the glass in a redundant _tic-tic-tic._

Sakura shifted her weight in the chair. "I was going to say that they aren't hallucinations."

"But they are?"

Sakura exhaled in a low hiss. "Sometimes. The worst was a dream."

"What did you see?"

"I…" Tsunade turned around now at the pause. Sakura looked at her from over the desk and found herself unable to form the words to describe how the Hokage had been charred and bleeding on the ground, how terrified she'd felt, how the horror of it had risen in her chest until she couldn't breathe. Now, Tsunade was backlit by the white-blonde autumn sun and it made her look invincible and permanent, like a painting or a goddess. "Don't make me relive it, shishou. It was awful, and I've seen awful things. The important thing," she added quickly, "is that I had a negative physical reaction to it. I vomited. The need to throw up snapped me out of the dream."

Tsunade sat again, heavily, and contemplated. Behind her the village moved on as always; Sakura could see genin running down the streets, showing off their chakra-controlled leaps in front of the civilians. They were too high up for her to make out facial expressions, but she knew them well: they would either be exasperated or indulgent, scowling and smiling in equal measure like they did in her own genin days. Something about this calmed her: that Konohagakure, at least, despite all its internal and external horrors, had some things constant.

"What bothers me about this is that there's no real pattern to analyze," Tsunade said seriously, directing Sakura's attention back to her. "But it's only been a couple of days, yes?" Sakura nodded, and her shishou folded her arms against that famously ample bosom. "Well, then. You've seen people recover from bad genjutsu—it just takes time. Are you comfortable with seeing how it plays out?"

Sakura nearly laughed with the disappointment she'd expected. "I have to be, don't I? I didn't come here hoping for a cure."

The lines around Tsunade's mouth deepened as she pursed her lips in a frown. "But I don't like not having one," she murmured. "Especially because something else has come up. I was going to tell you earlier, before you launched this psychodrama at me. There's an ANBU job on the docket and it needs to be snapped up quickly; Suna nin are on the first portion of it, but they need us to pick up some slack. They don't have too many shinobi to spare. The only two captains on rotation right now are Kakashi and Hyuuga Neji, and either one would want you on their team for this."

What was it Shikamaru had said? _This was an easy one. We were coming home. What if this happens again?_ Sakura looked up at her mentor, carefully masking her unease. "What's the mission?"

Tsunade sighed, and, contrary to her usual forthrightness, opened a drawer at her desk and took out a series of papers. "It'll be a surveillance job. Primarily."

Sakura watched her flick through the papers, dubious. "That was astoundingly uninformative," she said dully. "Why would they need me for a surveillance job? Or a, um, 'primarily' surveillance job?"

"Are you saying you wouldn't do it?"

"No," she answered, trying to keep all traces of petulance out of her voice, "I'm just _asking._"

Tsunade looked up at her from beneath severe lashes. "Sakura, you are not an ANBU captain; you are an ANBU _medic_, and even that decision was made against my better—my best—judgment. You are irreplaceable. If I'm not telling you something about the mission, it's because it's probably better for you _not to know_."

"I don't like that at all," Sakura said stubbornly, and regretted it for a moment when Tsunade put her hands to her temples, looking suddenly as old as she should.

"I think I liked you better when you clung to my every word," the Hokage groaned. "Look. A good medic might be crucial to the success of this mission. Kakashi and Neji will both realize that and, accordingly, want you on the team. Shizune, as you know, has by and large given up on fieldwork so she can run the hospital, and I'm not sending her on another mission until she wants to go." She paused. "Remember, you were snapped out of your dream by a physical trigger—another, competing automatic nervous system response. In that case, throwing up. Whoever comprises this ANBU team, pick someone to be there for you in case it happens again. Tell them to do something that'll shock you out of your—well, away from _her,_ in any case." Another pause. Sakura knew that her mentor was probably waiting for her to say something. "So. There's really not a choice here, but I'm asking anyway: can you do it?"

In frustration, Sakura twined her hands in her hair; the tugging at her scalp felt good and she wondered slightly at the diamond on her forehead, whether it was exerting any unseeable pressures. She closed her eyes, expecting to hear or see something from Inner Sakura, but nothing came. _It's never when you need it. Nothing is ever when you need it._ "If they need me," she said after a moment, eyes still closed, leaning back in her chair, "I will come."

She didn't see sad little smile on Tsunade's face, but she heard it in her voice. "I know."

It was as good a dismissal as she was ever going to get from the Hokage. _Time to go consult some food about this. _Sakura opened her eyes and rose.

* * *

><p>She was only mildly surprised to hear a knock on her door several hours later, after she'd finished her shift, and even less surprised to find Hyuuga Neji standing at her doorstep when she opened it. But she wasn't at all pleased. "Don't tell me you accepted captaincy literally <em>hours<em> after I told you to take it easy," she snarled.

He blinked. "Good evening, Sakura-san," he said simply.

Sakura's shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry. Hi. Yes. Good evening." Neji had changed after his hospital stay; he was wearing loose pants and a dark red shirt with wide sleeves in the traditional Hyuuga fashion. Sakura was acutely aware of her bedtime uniform of Naruto's tattered old T-shirt—the one with the blazing Ichiraku logo, won years ago at a giveaway that had probably been rigged in his favor. Why did the Hyuugas always look like they were on their way to a dinner party? They were probably born wearing those white yukata.

Neji's voice, unmistakably calm and deep, redirected her. "As it turns out, Kakashi-san accepted captaincy. Contrary to your apparent belief, I do not completely ignore medical advice. It would be against my better interest to go back to the hospital so soon."

"Oh." Sakura crossed her arms over the cartoonized noodles on her front, feeling well and truly silly now. She chose not to consider his last statement as a veiled insult. "Well, good. Glad to hear you have some sense. So what gives?"

A brief and mild amusement flickered over his face. "Contrary to another one of your apparent beliefs, I do not refuse missions simply because I will not lead them. Kakashi-san is captain, but I am uniquely relevant for surveillance missions—"

Sakura groaned. "Uniquely? There are, like, _hundreds_ of you Hyuuga—"

"Uniquely." He held out a file to her. "Our taichou asked me to deliver this, and to tell you to meet at nine AM tomorrow by the gates. Nine," he said, eyeing Sakura's open mouth. "He also told me to tell you that by this he means, actually, nine. He is under the impression that you expect him to be late."

"Well, yeah." She took the file from him and ran her fingers over the seal. "Mm. Suppose I'll see you at nine, then. Lucky for you that intact shoulders aren't necessary for surveillance," she added, unable to resist trying to irk him one last time, "or I'd ask the Hokage to keep you off the mission."

"Consult your diary," he said, turning to leave. "My shoulders are fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Another joke. Sakura shut the door firmly in his wake and ripped the file open to read, deciding at once that she liked her geniuses better when they were silent.

It was a strange file. Tsunade was sending them to follow a merchant caravan protected by hired guards in the form of samurai leased from the Land of Iron. But the merchant caravan was from Sunagakure, not from Konoha, and was heading all the way to Kumogakure—an incredibly long haul. The Konoha ANBU would meet at an oasis of an unspecified location halfway between Suna and the Wind Country's border, where they would be briefed on the target's actions so far by a group of collaborating Suna nin. And then what? The rest of the mission was unspecified. Surveillance. 'Primarily.'

She wasn't too thrilled about their target, either: a bulky man called Matsuo of the Sand, mid-thirties, a trader in soy products. He owned a vast conglomerate by inheritance, apparently, and had ruthlessly exploited his new ownership by divesting from his board and getting in good with the Wind Country's daimyo. Particularly after the war, cash was king, and Matsuo of the Sand was apparently well-skilled at forging his own crown. The daimyos of Wind and Iron had entered a strong trade agreement—security for soy, which made enough sense, because what else did either have to offer? But Iron security for a caravan of Wind agricultural products to the Land of Lightning? The reasoning behind that was not nearly so evident. Lightning was known to be especially fertile: forever awash with rain, founded on good soil, and favored with a temperate climate, at least in the valleys between its great mountain ranges. Why would a caravan of agricultural products be traveling to a verdant and bountiful country to deliver its wares? Why, specifically, to the hidden shinobi village of Kumogakure? And why send the company head on a caravan at all?

_I suppose that's what the surveillance is for,_ Sakura thought to herself. Obviously this wasn't an ordinary merchant caravan. She still didn't see why she, particularly, was necessary; her presence meant that Tsunade expected some bloodshed, but under what circumstances would they engage the samurai during a surveillance mission? She checked the top of the report: it would be Kakashi leading her, Neji, Shikamaru, Aburame Shino, and Sai. _That's a big squad for ANBU._ They'd probably split up, she reasoned, half moving ahead of the caravan and half following behind. Of course Shino would come in handy during surveillance—his bugs could go anywhere (she shivered)—and Neji's Byakugan, as well. Kakashi had years of experience with surveillance and tracking—Pakkun would probably join them—and Shikamaru was a master strategist, always good to have on hand for a mission with as many moving parts as this one. Sai was ex-ROOT, which basically spoke for itself. But why Sakura? _She's expecting a fight. She's expecting someone to get hurt._

A scrawled note at the bottom of her briefing, obviously put there by Tsunade herself: 'Wig. Or dyed hair.'

Obviously. Hard to stay out of sight with pink hair. Sakura was still poring over the scroll when Sai and Naruto got home, dirty from an evening training session and smelling strongly of Ichiraku. "Sakura-chan! Whatcha got there?" Naruto leaned over her shoulder and squinted; Sakura knew he saw only a blank page. "Sealed against me. ANBU, eh?"

"It is," she said. "And an odd one. Sai, looks like we'll be out of here for a while."

Naruto pouted. "How long?"

"If all goes well and quickly, travel should take two weeks," Sakura answered, calculating the distance in her head. "We'll be covering a caravan, and they're slow. But it doesn't look like we're attached to them on the way back. Maybe a week up and three, four days back, if we're left to our own devices."

"Damn." Naruto fell next to her on the couch. "That's a long time. I'll starve."

"You would never let yourself starve," Sakura scoffed. "But I don't anticipate that this is going to be a short jaunt to the countryside. Prepare for the long haul."

"I will buy noodles in bulk," Naruto said solemnly.

Sai, who had his own file tucked underneath his sketchpad, only smiled. But Sakura saw him fingering his ink brush in a moment of what could only be nerves.


	3. etiologist

**three: etiologist**

"It's going to have to be a short one today," she said, tightening her gloves. "I have to be out of here by eight."

"A mission."

Sakura looked up, startled. Sasuke was watching her fiddle with the fastenings at her right wrist; clad in dark training clothing and forever frowning, he still looked very much the villain. It was almost comical.

In the early days of their weekly training sessions she'd tried to engage him in conversation, smiling bright and making jokes and telling him senseless stories. It turned out to be a Sisyphean task that smacked too strongly of the inequitable silences of their genin days. So she left the boulder-pushing to Naruto and generally she and Sasuke trained in silent proximity, with exactly none of the calm or ease she felt with the similarly loquacious Sai. "Yes," she said after a moment, finishing with her gloves and flexing her fingers. "I'll be gone for a couple of weeks."

His frown deepened—why this would cause him consternation, Sakura had no idea—but he didn't elaborate. "We'll spar," he said suddenly. "Go."

It wasn't worth arguing about. Maybe he was just itching for a fight. But Sakura didn't like to throw the first punch with Sasuke; it always made her feel intensely vulnerable. She always assumed that he had calculated his possible moves far in advance and just needed her to go first so that he could decide which killing blow to deliver.

She ran towards him nonetheless.

He stayed still as she came at him, as she'd suspected he would; Sasuke was fast enough to simply get out of the way of her fists from such a long distance. She changed direction quickly, pumping chakra to her calves and springing behind him, fists charged.

Now he moved, slickly (she avoided thinking _snake!_) pivoting so that they were side-by-side and expertly parrying her arm. He wanted a pure taijutsu fight, it seemed. Odd—they were evenly matched in that respect, and she was perhaps a little better. If she landed a punch, he'd go down immediately. Unless he had a trick.

The thumps and smacks of muffled blows on skin and clothing rang in her ears. Sakura found herself having to move faster than she liked—surely she'd miss something soon and he'd find an opening. His eyes were onyx, like tunnels carved into a mountain, and fixed on her face. No Sharingan. She wondered if he was insulting her.

Ah—there! He was reaching for his belt, probably for a kunai—_Cheater!_—She dropped to the ground and kicked his legs out from beneath him. She knew he would have foreseen it with the Sharingan, but if he wasn't going to take her too seriously, that was his problem. Sasuke stumbled back and she rushed at him in a full-body tackle—it was dangerous to get so close to him, but the element of surprise was important with Sasuke, especially when he was so obviously trying to read the pattern of her movements. She grabbed him tightly around the waist, threw him into the ground, and used his momentum to springboard away before he could stab her with the kunai he surely had tucked into his palm.

"Tch." Sasuke flipped back to his feet quickly enough. Sakura was oddly satisfied to see a familiar red gleam in his eyes this time. A kunai, then, two, then two more, came her direction—she dodged the first two sets, earning a little dribble of blood below the ANBU tattoo on her shoulder, and leapt out of the way of the last, bearing down on him from above. Sasuke leapt to meet her—she hadn't been expecting that—and landed a good kick to her stomach, momentarily winding her and sending her skidding into the ground. She kept a good hold on his leg, dragging him with her. An ugly groan emerged against her will and she ignored it—grabbed his leg with medical precision and, with one quick and knowledgeable twist, made it useless.

Sasuke hissed angrily, breaking away from her and bearing his weight on the other leg. "That's not taijutsu."

"Neither were… those… projectiles," Sakura wheezed, bending over at the waist until she could take a semblance of a breath. She brushed sweat away from her face and glared at him. "Cheater." To her immense surprise, he eventually gave a sardonic little grin.

"Fair enough," Sasuke muttered. "I take it we're done."

"I think so. I have to run back and make myself less pink." Absently, Sakura put two fingers over the cut on her arm, purging it of dirt and residue and knitting the flesh back together. She saw Sasuke eyeing the ANBU tattoo and she felt a momentary and unwelcome flash of sympathy for her childhood friend and traitor. He'd never be wholly trusted again by any of the village elite, particularly not for missions that might take him far away. He could never be ANBU. He would only ever be their strong arm, a beast on a chain. Hadn't she just felt it necessary to nearly break his leg rather than be at a disadvantage in a spar with him?

Sasuke didn't bother to brush the dirt off of his knees, but he was paying attention to his injured leg. She took the chance to watch him. After his ANBU interrogation and a review by the Council, Sasuke had been allowed to remain a registered shinobi. His official status was still up in the air, and doubtless it always would be, but the cold truth was that he was too skilled, and his bloodline too precious, to ignore. That he'd had a hand in saving the village merely provided the elders in the Council with an excuse to keep the power of Konohagakure's clans intact. _They'll be telling him to look for a wife soon,_ she thought suddenly. The thought made her laugh.

Sasuke glanced up at her, irritated at the apparent mockery; he was testing his weight on the bad leg. She regarded him carefully and the words were out before she really realized what heaviness they carried: "Would you like me to fix your leg?"

Now Sasuke looked a little surprised—she'd never offered to heal him after one of their sessions, and he'd never asked. Much to her shame, she'd even avoided having him on her rotation at the hospital whenever he came in from a short mission, one of the occasional (and never solo) missions that required distinct force. Often his presence was enough to intimidate enemy nin into at least making a mistake, if not surrendering, but upon occasion Sasuke came back severely injured. In those cases Sakura could only ever watch his healing from afar, ensuring that the medics in charge of his care did what they had to and leaving before he could wake up. She just couldn't bring herself to _touch_ him anymore. That tackle had been the most contact they'd had since he'd come home two years ago. Now, as she watched him manipulate his leg into a comfortable position, she couldn't even remember how it felt to have her arms around his chest.

She shivered, inexplicably.

Sasuke shook his head. "No," he said simply. "Conserve your chakra. I'll go to the hospital."

"Okay. Next time I'll leave the medic's fighting out of it," she said, a little relieved.

"No," he said again—this time, immediately. He deactivated his Sharingan and his eyes flickered to the diamond on her forehead. Sakura wondered absently if she should have been counting his words to relay back to Naruto. He hadn't said much to either of them since his examination—although after questioning by Morino Ibiki, several Yamanaka, and Tsunade, Sakura supposed she would keep silent, too. Supposedly there was a great fat file somewhere in the Hokage's offices that contained all of Sasuke's most personal details. Twelve-year-old Sakura would salivated at the chance of reading it; nineteen-year-old Sakura wouldn't let herself ask Tsunade where it was.

"O-kay," she said again, uncertain as the subject of his gaze. "Get it checked out by someone, though, or you'll do permanent damage." She ripped off her gloves; she was fidgeting. It was time to leave this—to leave him. She could only ever spend so much time with the man who'd fought so long on fractured dreams. "Well. I'm off for a couple of weeks, then. Be nice to Naruto. Be safe."

He said nothing. She knew he and Naruto would see each other nearly every day if she was gone; Naruto never had Sasuke over when Sakura was home. Was that unfair of her?

She leapt away.

* * *

><p>Kakashi was on time—Kakashi was <em>early<em>. It blew the mind. He was leaning against the deserted gates, hands in his pockets and mask slung around his neck. Shikamaru and Shino were already there as well, Shikamaru chewing a toothpick and Shino's face impenetrable as always. "I like your hair," Kakashi said mildly, pretending to be completely unaware of how momentous a moment this was. "It looks good dark like that. Did you train with Sasuke this morning?"

Sakura nodded, setting her pack on the ground. She fingered her newly browned hair with no mild displeasure. The dye was temporary and dark enough to look real, but she'd rather shave her head than lose her colors. "He actually spoke to me this time," she answered, perhaps a bit more acidly than intended, but something about their weekly session had set her on edge.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow at her tone. "Nowadays, that's almost as unusual as you initiating conversation with _him_," he said cheerfully. Sakura felt rather than heard the parental-sounding 'young lady' pinned to the end and resented it, but one could only resent Kakashi for so long; with untraceable quickness, he reached out and ruffled her hair like he used to do so many forevers ago.

Sakura snarled and batted him off—"No touching, old man—" to which Shikamaru snickered.

"Youth," Kakashi said mournfully, and then immediately snapped to attention: it was nine o'clock, and Neji and Sai emerged from the village in full regalia, masks already tied carefully on. Neji's hair was tucked securely back in a low ponytail; Sai's pack had scrolls strapped within easy reach. When she looked back to the gates, Shikamaru and Shino had slipped their masks on, as well; Kakashi had his in hand. "Debriefing can be done on the road," he said, all business now. "We'll stop for rations by the border and keep the sealed food for later. We can get to our meeting spot in Suna by tonight if we really book it, but we're not due til early tomorrow afternoon, so we'll take it easy and camp in the sands. We've got a long way to go. Squad ready?"

"Hai, taichou," echoed from behind porcelain as Sakura tied her mask on, as well. At Naruto's request, it was painted in the style of a fox—he'd ordered that she not ask for a slug design ("It's gross enough that it's your summon, Sakura-chan") and that she get his own whiskers painted on instead. It was like a protective shield; as always, the best face she could show to the world was Naruto's. Funny how it seemed to make her stand straighter. Funny, also, how her lazy old perverted sensei looked like a proper warrior in the black ANBU uniform. White Fang indeed. Sakura lifted her pack onto her shoulders again and followed her old teacher out of the village.

They went by tree, as preferred—too much risk of running into civilians if you went by the forest roads. The thing about existing up in the canopy was that it was alive with sound: muffled taps of chakra'd feet on solid, sturdy branches; the rattle of Sai's scrolls against each other; the wind, a steady-moving white noise that she had gotten so used to over the years that sometimes her ears rang upon returning from a mission to a too-quiet house. This—the outset—was Sakura's favorite part of missions. She knew many shinobi, even the highest-ranked, who hated the waiting, the traveling, and the endless planning that marked the beginning of a job: it is a tenuous point in a mission's timeline, everything up to change. You haven't yet confronted your enemy or target or client. You haven't had reason to eliminate any possible course of action. You haven't lost anything you knew to regain, haven't learned anything to take back.

Ino had told her once that it always felt like an audition, like she was just about to get on a stage. High-energy nin like Kiba or Naruto got restless, anxious; they'd probably like to just get to the point already, to get into the action. _Put me in, coach_. People like Shikamaru and Shino and Sai never quite reacted in one way or the other because the outset of the mission was still just The Mission, undivided into narrative segments of beginning, middle, end. But some shinobi—she'd noticed this of the course of her missions—some of them seemed to _yearn_ for those first couple of hours on the road. Kakashi did. Sasuke had. At least while leading, Neji did, too. And Sakura. Sakura loved it. Her spine tingled. She couldn't help smiling underneath the mask. It always made her feel like a fool—like someone in love, maybe? It was a strikingly similar feeling to the one that used to foam in her chest when Sasuke favored her with a rare smile, or when Naruto had returned to the village half a Sage already.

She'd told Tsunade about it once, relatively recently, over drinks. Her mentor had smiled very thinly behind a veil of sake. "D'you know why people like that—like you and Hyuuga and Kakashi—why you like it so much?" she'd asked. Sakura had shrugged and listed the sound effect: the wind, the rain, the sounds of natural life. But Tsunade had cut her off. "No," her mentor said. "No, that's bullshit. You like it because it feels like _running away_." She'd nodded sagely and had another sip. "I," the Hokage had added quietly, "would know. We would know." Sakura'd asked, We? And Tsunade tugged on the tail of her pupil's hitai-ate. "We Legendary Sannin. The Legendary Sannin Who Left."

Maybe—most likely—Tsunade was right. But for now the cool, earthy air of the forest was soothing her weary head and dissolving the knot that'd lodged in her throat the moment Sasuke had begun speaking to her like a human again at the training ground. This time, everything was clear and sharp. She could pick out the details of the leaves she dislodged. There was no strange eye-film, no feeling of abstraction. If she was running away, so be it. She'd stayed when both the boys had left. She was owed some time as a masked nin—as a faceless, weightless body vaulting itself into the spaces claimed by the living earth.

She leapt parallel with Sai. Kakashi and Neji were in front of them and Shino and Shikamaru behind. As they approached their second hour of travel, Kakashi motioned for them all to come closer together. "We start tracking when the Suna team peels off at the oasis," he told them, his voice moving easy and deep over the wind, "but surveillance in the desert without the benefit of the Kazekage's sand-shifting techniques is going to be difficult. Occasional reconnaissance using bugs or dogs would be the easiest way, but I don't like the idea of not having a continuous presence with eyes on the caravan as our terrain changes. So. Options?"

The elegant painted bird that was Neji inclined his head briefly towards Shino. His hair somehow stayed perfectly tied back; Sakura could feel hers coming out of its bindings. She'd forgotten to cut it before applying the dye. "Could we perform constant surveillance solely with the kikaichu?"

Shino gave a little noise that Sakura took as dissent and spoke, in his odd, stilted way. "Mostly tracking. Because there would still need to be a relay process in order to obtain information. Same problem with not having a presence with the caravan that can continuously report."

"I can keep Byakugan on them so long as we stay within a certain distance."

The medic in Sakura riled at that and she actually scoffed as they all—tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—landed and launched themselves into the air again. "On a mission this long? That's chakra depletion waiting to happen."

Neji glanced back at her; she guessed he was frowning at her. _For being right!_

Shino looked at Shikamaru's deer mask; they seemed to share a moment of complicity. "One of us?" Shino hazarded.

Shikamaru sighed. "Seems to be the best option. We can pile the rest on top of it—Shino's kikaichu, and the Byakugan can both follow our person in the caravan. The question is, how do we add ourselves to the party unobtrusively? The trailers in the caravan will most likely be packed full."

Kakashi shook his head. "No one could hide in the caravan. There are checkpoints at country borders and especially tricky ones at every hidden shinobi village. The caravan will stop in towns as often as possible for creature comforts and supplies. They'll unpack and repack constantly."

Sai shrugged. "We come across them by accident? A wandering traveler?"

"I'm uneasy with that," Sakura said. "Who would pick up a lone traveler in the middle of the desert?"

"Two travelers would be less suspicious," Shikamaru said, testing the words as if for their taste. It was a tone he adopted when he already had a strategy, which ruffled Sakura; why wouldn't he just say it?

"They're still in the middle of the desert," she argued. "That's suspicious in itself, especially if the two are masking themselves as civilians. And especially with samurai guards flanking the caravan the whole time. Taichou, do they have an escort? I know the Wind daimyo's hesitant to let people cross the desert without experienced travelers or Suna nin with them. They've gotten flak for lost caravans before—when the drivers die of exposure or dehydration. If we can sub in for the current Suna nin, we don't have to pretend quite as much. We'll just borrow some hitai-ate and walk silently, with transmitters."

Kakashi nodded. "I don't know anything about their current escort. We'll wait for information from the shinobi we meet at the oasis. We can sneak one or two of our own in with the escort as additions or replacements."

Shino made a brief noise by Sakura's ear, which made her jump. She still had a hard time taking his strange buzzings as conversation, but since they freaked Ino out so completely she always tried to keep a straight face about them. "Who?" he asked, his voice low in her ear.

"Depends on their current escorts," Shikamaru said. He sounded, for some reason, quite suspicious of the whole endeavor. "But the escorts will be obligated to abandon the group once they cross the border out of the Wind Country."

"Not if it's made out to be a full-fledged escort mission," Sai supplied from slightly behind them.

Neji shook his head. "The caravan would have paid Suna for a permanent escort if they wanted one, and they probably did not. Not with samurai already supplied. If they haven't, they won't want to pay now, and we would not be able to force them."

"Bringing us back to the wandering travelers." Shikamaru's sigh was something of a snarl. "Taichou, this mission was not very well laid-out."

Kakashi shrugged. "It came together quickly. I'm just a messenger. Think on it—we'll revisit later. Fan out. Hyuuga, check for stowaways and obstacles."

As Neji scanned, Sakura slowed her pace a little to travel side-by-side with Shikamaru. "You don't sound convinced about any of this," she muttered.

He gave a half-shrug. "That's because I'm not. The file we got was far too vague, even for a mission that supposedly came together out of immediate need. I suppose I'm not the only one who noticed what he said about the Kazekage's shifting sands?"

"You're not." Sakura had noticed the comment as well. "I think Kakashi's warning us—he wouldn't let something like that slip. So Gaara-san is with the Suna tail on the caravan. Isn't that a little below his station?"

"It is indeed. I can't imagine his siblings are very happy about it—unless they're with him," he added. "There is something that he and the big lady have talked about that we're not hearing. If the Kazekage is there, he's there because he feels like he needs to be."

Sakura nodded. "Tsunade-sama was unusually close-mouthed about this. And reluctant."

"Reluctant about what?"

She was about to say, "About sending me," but then stopped—realization came over her as an unexpected wave, sending her spinning.

Sakura swore. Shikamaru's mask turned her way. "What now?"

"She—she was being all coy about sending me, but she also made it quite clear that I had to go. She said that a well-trained medic would be necessary, so I thought she meant that there would be violence. I don't mean much for a surveillance mission if there's not violence; I'm just tagging along if all we're going to do is set bugs and dogs on them." She swore again. "She always gets me! Sly old witch. She told me to dye my hair."

Shikamaru seemed to have thought of this already. "She knew that we'd need undercovers. And she wanted one of them to be you. Probably to go as a civilian, then. Or a lower-level Suna medic."

"Undercovers _and_ surveillance experts from afar. Short-range and long-range chakra sensing."

"What else?" Shikamaru mused. "Medical knowledge, if not medical jutsu. Awareness of genjutsu. Formidable strength. Why those would be necessary in a caravan, I don't know."

Sakura laughed, exasperated. "Let's not look too far into _that. _Look at our surveillance team—who else would go undercover as a civilian, if need be? Sai? Shino? No offense, Shino-san," she added as he passed in front of them, "but you scream 'shinobi'." The clansman shrugged a shoulder. No doubt he was used to his own social strangeness.

"We may need two people," Shikamaru reasoned. "Kakashi couldn't go—he has to stay behind the scenes. Hyuuga or I could join you so long as we use transmitters to consult with the others. I want to know why our captain hasn't told us all he knows."

Sakura felt the same way, but couldn't shake the feeling that Kakashi didn't know all that much, either. "Whatever the game is, we'll figure it out soon enough," she said quietly. "Fact is, I'm the only one here without a fairly obvious or distinctive technique—or face, in Kaka-sensei's case. Tsunade-shisou must have assumed that we'd need someone on the inside of the caravan who could perform as a civilian _or_ a shinobi and not get caught."

Shikamaru was silent for a while after this, and Sakura assumed he'd dropped off to think on it. She drifted further from him, thinking to head up a couple of branch-levels and travel in semi-solitary, but Shikamaru spoke again. "The Kage must have formed a plan together," he told her. "It's highly unlikely that Hokage-sama would have sent us on a mission this unprepared. The Kazekage most likely requested that you join the effort, or Hokage-sama wouldn't have let you come. You don't do long-term surveillance and tracking. You do assassinations and stakeouts and big battles."

Astonished at the idea that Sabaku no Gaara would have asked for her specifically, Sakura shook her head. "Maybe whatever we're going into will require all three."

"I think that whatever we're going into is more precarious and more dangerous than we've been led to believe," Shikamaru said tersely.

Sakura looked at Kakashi: her teacher leading his pack through the woods. She could tell that his shoulders were set; this was her first ANBU mission under him, but after seven years of knowing him she was willing to bet that he was normally more relaxed. "I think you're probably right."

* * *

><p>Hours passed with the certainty of the sun's travel. As the trees grew scragglier and spread out, the squadron headed earthward, leaping over the tapering hills and scrubby grasses that marked the beginning of the end of home. They crossed the border to Wind Country as the sun was setting, avoiding the civilian roads so as not to be identified by the tattoos on their shoulders. Kakashi slowed his pace as the sun's rays seemed to intensify in strength; there was no need to push too hard.<p>

Wind Country always resembled Sakura's conception of a beautiful and distant planet, or maybe even a dream landscape, harsh and sharp. The dunes were magnificent and bleak; the sun kept disappearing and reappearing as they climbed slopes of sand. The air was not so much hot as it was filled with the sun's energy; every time they summited and the sun hit them again it was like a shock or a burn. Sai, she noticed, took particular interest in the fact that there were no clouds to disturb the sunset; it made the whole sky look orangey-red and violent. Sakura tasted grit in her teeth and realized that, contrary to her earlier surge of happiness at setting out with the squad, she now felt quite alone.

She wondered if this was how the civilians felt all the time—completely left in the dark, completely dependent on shinobi for protection and daimyos for leadership. She wondered why, no matter what happened to the shinobi world, its class structures and hierarchies and order remained the same. It was feudal—arcane—this chain-of-command stuff. They'd fought a war and almost died; surely they deserved to know what they were putting their lives on the line for now?

Neji's Byakugan informed them of a small village some kilometers east. The team set up camp in a circle of desert grasses and stunted trees, the best protection against potential sandstorms that the landscape afforded. Sai and Shino went into the village to augment their food supply and refill their canteens, careful to leave their masks and armor behind and to cover their tattoos with traveling cloaks. They still looked obviously un-civilian, but there was no point in leaving a trail back to Konoha when rogue nin were everywhere and they could blend in that way.

Shikamaru and Sakura had traveled more frequently to Suna than the others and had the foresight to bring large squares of canvas and linen to cordon off their campsite for further protection against the elements. By the end of their efforts the circle of unfolded pallets and sleeping bags resembled a casbah. Sakura found herself chuckling. "I've got a harem," she said to no one in particular, luxuriating in the removal of her mask by using two fingers' worth of precious water to trace a cool, wet line around her forehead and down her sweaty neck. Kakashi and Shikamaru both snorted. Neji looked at her rather oddly and seemed to glance away when she noticed, turning back to unfurling his pallet.

He was favoring his right arm. Sakura walked over to him. "No point in starting off with a bad shoulder," she said in a low voice. "Is it still sore?"

Pale eyes flicked up to her. "Stiff."

"Not much occasion to stretch it today. Shall I?" She held up her hands expectantly.

Always hesitant to be healed—like it wasn't her _job_ or anything—Neji didn't seem inclined to accept, but after a moment the sense of it appeared to sway him and he nodded. "Please."

When he didn't move but only waited for her, she chuckled. "You'll have to sit down," she reminded him, raising a hand to illustrate their height difference. Neji gave a long-suffering sigh and folded himself elegantly on his pallet; Sakura kneeled behind him with what felt like much less natural grace and re-tied her hair. The ANBU uniform top was tight, which made it easier to get her chakra through the fabric and into his muscles and for which she was grateful—she reckoned Neji wouldn't have acquiesced to being healed if he'd had to strip to the waist for a non-combat injury. "I can feel some tension," she told him. "This might help—hold on."

She kept one hand feeding chakra into his body and used the other to manipulate his shoulder back and forth. She heard a little hum of appreciation come from the once-child prodigy and couldn't help but smile, a little prideful, when she stood up. "All done."

Neji rotated his shoulder. "It's much better. Thank you."

"Aa, anytime." She paused and glanced down at him. He'd let his arms fall neatly over his knees, apparently about to meditate. More than most, Hyuuga Neji had had to deal with the vapidity and institutionalized hierarchies of shinobi life. The Hyuuga clan's efforts to protect its secrets and its subjugation of Branch members was something close to barbaric, a tradition tolerated only because of the benefit it brought Konohagakure—much like the multiple horrors of the Uchiha clan. He was a prodigy and he had fostered a good relationship with his uncle the patriarch, but being born into the Branch House was a mark he could never remove. She remembered hearing him calling his cousin "Hinata-sama" and raising an eyebrow at Naruto, who'd shaken his head. _I'll tell you later._ If Neji had died during the war, it would have been a hero's death. If he had died during the war, he would have been free of the strictures of life and destiny that he'd so viciously detested in their youth. Maybe by restoring him she had been complicit in his continued subjugation. Maybe by healing him when he was on the very brink of life she had deprived him of final freedoms. She didn't realize she was going to ask until she did. "Neji-san." And when he turned to pin those full white eyes on her, she wished she hadn't said anything at all. ANBU missions were not made for any questions of life or death beyond those visited in practice every day.

So she brushed it away. "Never mind. Um—anything else need fixing?"

He looked rather surprised. "No, Sakura-san. You did quite well while I was in the hospital."

"I wasn't fishing for a compliment," she said, chuckling wearily. With a suddenness that frightened, her head was beginning to throb again: sharp thuds of pain. She put a hand to her temple without thinking. "Just, ah, making sure."

He turned away, resuming his meditation pose. "Whatever it is, you may ask me whenever you feel more comfortable doing so."

She frowned at his perceptiveness, but her external retort was cut off by the sudden return of Sai and Shino, both replete with full canteens, extra travel food, and real meals—a wonder during an ANBU mission. They were being spoiled by the easy pace of travel. Sai smiled at her from across the camp and she walked quickly to them, snagging her canteen and taking a deep draught to soothe her head. "I brought you coconut curry," Sai said in an undertone. "Light on the spice."

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" she said unthinkingly, taking the plastic take-away from his hands.

Sai chuckled. "It is always when I am giving you food."

From behind her, taking chopsticks from their stash, Kakashi chuckled.

It was dark now, the kind of dark only a desert can get at night, but with millions of stars shimmering overhead in the clear, dry air. Protected from view by the scrubby bushes and trees, Kakashi had lit a lantern; it gave off a not-insignificant light without the obviousness of a campfire, but it did have the unsettling effect of casting everyone in half-shadow. Sakura's headache remained persistent in the upper left quadrant of her head and she couldn't help the nerves that came with it; she made herself take deep diaphragm breaths, urging calm upon herself as her throat seemed to close and her pulse sounded in her ears. _Don't come. Don't come. Don't come. Don't you say a single word._ She sipped from her canteen too often; she'd be out of water again come morning if she kept it up.

They ate in silence, but there was much behind it. Sakura looked at the others to distract herself as she chewed forever on the same clump of coconut rice. Shikamaru ate slowly, frowning all the while and quite obviously thinking; Kakashi, _Icha-Icha_-less, kept vigilant eyes above the dim line of the canvas that delineated their camp. As usual, she kept missing his bites; it was a childish game, trying to catch him with his mask down, but abandoning it would be abandoning too much else. Shino had finished quickly and flipped his hood back up. His mask was still around his neck. He seemed like someone who took little pleasure in food. Sai, too, had finished, and was staring up at the skies. Neji ate daintily and slowly, likely a habit from Hyuuga family dinners (if that was a thing), but was frowning like Shikamaru, something evidently on his mind.

With her eyes on Neji, Sakura felt her vision split. The strong planes of his nose and jaw wavered, doubled, and crossed, and for a moment Sakura couldn't swallow; she took a hasty gulp of water and felt it go down hard, too hard. The pain in her head had turned into lighting that struck the same place every time_._ She winced as unobtrusively as possible, pushed her unfinished meal towards Kakashi as an offering, and turned away from the group, waiting for—waiting for what? Death? Inner Sakura? Her throat still felt swollen and tight. Her eyes burned and surely her heart was beating much too fast.

_I'm dying. I'm dying. I'm dying. I'm dying. I'm—_

"I'll take first watch," Kakashi said. His voice was low and calm. "We'll do it in pairs after."

Sakura nearly let out a growl of frustration—how could she behave like this, so stupidly, so selfishly? They were on a mission. Of course she wasn't dying. It was time to shape up. And yet she still felt like she couldn't draw a proper breath. And yet she found herself feeling at her neck for her pulse.

Kakashi blew out the lantern.

Every muscle and tendon in her legs ran like plucked strings when she stood. She hadn't realized the tension. Somehow she propelled herself to her pallet through the pain in her head and sat down heavily, removed her gloves and lined vest and armored plates. Dimly she realized that Sai was looking at her, so she gave him a smile and a "good night" that left no room for questions.

And she tucked in on herself. And she didn't close her eyes but looked up at the blinding night sky, all those pockets of dark sucking away life and light, And she blinked, and breathed, and when finally she fell asleep a gust was tearing through the desert, kicking up silt and sand and smelling of earth and metal and heat.

* * *

><p>Neji saw her move when he knelt by her; she must have felt his presence. Quiet as possible, he stretched out a hand to prod her awake with some manner of gentleness. "Sakura-san. It's our watch."<p>

"Hai." She blinked rapidly as if to clear cobwebs from her eyes and sat up in the pallet, stretching her arms above her head. Neji took note of her tired eyes as the sounds Sai and Shikamaru tucking themselves back into their own sleeping bags came to her side of the circle, their watch done.

It was still completely dark outside, the kind of dark that has heft to it. Neji waited until Sakura stood, then pushed open one of the delineating linen flaps and ducked underneath it to face the open sands,

He positioned himself eastward, facing Suna, as Sakura patrolled, her sandals indenting the ground beneath her with a soft sound of shifting grain. Neji knew that she tended to move and to listen during her watch; even shinobi couldn't help but make noise on sandy terrain like this, and if she kept constantly moving then springing into action would be so much less difficult, were it necessary. Either that or she was afraid of falling back asleep. But the sound of her crunching was quickly getting on his nerves.

On her fourth circle, Neji held out an arm and she ran right into it. He blinked at the contact—had she been paying attention at all? The skin of her arm was cooler on his hand than he would have expected. "You can stop circling," he said by way of explanation. "No one is close."

She sighed melodromatically. "Why even have partnered watches if one of the partners is Hyuuga Neji?"

They were the right words, but not the right tone. Sakura was usually much more—vivacious, maybe?—when she teased him. Perhaps she was simply tired. "One of the more regrettable traditions of shinobi life," he answered with cool, believable arrogance, "is partnering geniuses with lesser nin."

At this, Sakura chuckled. "You're an ass."

"I am." They stood next to each other quietly then, arms folded, looking across the blackness of the desert. By Neji's calculation, the sun would begin to rise in an hour or so. They would have the shortest watch. Neji had taken the second round as well, with Shino, but this was Sakura's first. He wondered if Kakashi had assigned her the last watch on purpose so she could snag a couple more hours of sleep.

In his peripheral vision, he took note of the rigid way she clasped her arms together. Her hair, which looked odd in a dark brown shade not dissimilar to his own, framed an almost imperceptibly tired face. _Doesn't seem that sleep did much good._

After some moments passed, Neji silently activated his Byakugan. Still nothing in their vicinity, or several kilometers out. Sakura would scold about chakra depletion if she knew he was using it so often, but she always underestimated how well he knew his own limits. One comes to know them quite well after being pushed to their absolute. But Neji never let himself sink to that sort of sentimentality—no pitiful _I nearly died_ moments, not for him. Of course he'd been scared at the time, he'd never deny that, but now that it was over and he was fully recovered, why dwell on what hadn't happened? Especially if death was an almost daily threat.

Still, he would be a fool and a liar to keep himself from sometimes feeling the most intense relief and happiness at being alive. It was always little things: training with Lee and Gai, or getting home from a mission, or eating a lunch of one-sided conversation with Naruto, or even walking home with Hinata—he sometimes felt a surge of something in those moments, something that reminded him of waking up in a hospital tent with four medics surrounding him and Haruno Sakura asleep on the chair in the corner, pink hair spilling from her ponytail onto her face and flak vest taken off and turned around to serve as a makeshift blanket.

To his right, Sakura moved; he glanced over at her again and, upon remembering, immediately deactivated his Byakugan so she wouldn't yell at him for using it "unnecessarily." The world always shifted strangely when he activated or deactivated his kekkei genkai; one reality fell away in favor of another, warping the world as it was seen and putting it into a different context. There were always swirls of color and the bright rush of chakra returning to its usual unseen state. There were always points that marked the concentration and release of energy.

But—_that _was odd. Eyes back to normal, Neji felt himself frowning.

She noticed, and before he could move away her bright green eyes locked in with his own. "What's up?"

Neji found his eyes drawn upward, to the purple diamond at the center of her forehead. Stranger and stranger. "Nothing, Sakura-san," he said quietly, for it either wasn't really something to ask about or it had been a trick of his eyes. But when he looked out towards the east, where the sky was beginning to lighten in the face of the stars, he was reminded of the pulsing of the chakra stored in her forehead, the way it spiraled around the diamond in gentle, rhythmic cycles, but also the way it had appeared—just for a moment—to flare.


	4. arrhythmia

In terms of pairings: this story is a little open-ended. The main strings of the plot are set, but I'm trying to make this play out as realistically as possible, so you can expect hints of romantic attachment or at least desire from many of the different perspectives that I might adopt—people are always complicated when it comes to sex and love. That being said, I'm ranging far afield of canon or popular pairings (with the exception of hints of Hinata/Naruto because it's fuckin cute). Please stay with me regardless; the point of this story isn't to be romantic but to show how relationships change and evolve when someone is going through mental stress. It's to examine post-war worlds.

Also: I also never addressed how much of this is canon. Obviously Neji's continued breathing and bitching is non-canon, but besides that one obvious change I'm trying to keep it in line with everything leading up to Kaguya's demise in the manga.

Also also: Reviews appreciated!

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><p><strong>four: arrhythmia<strong>

On some days, and with a violence that frightened him, Kakashi hated the sight of Sakura. Couldn't handle her. Couldn't deal with the unnerving green eyes or the little half-smile or the lilt she'd had to her walk ever since she learned medical ninjutsu all those years back. Didn't want to hear her talk about who she'd met at the hospital or tease her when she tried to discuss the chemistry of poisons at dinner. Didn't want to even see her waving from across the street.

On these occasions he went to rather extraordinary lengths to avoid her. He took to the rooftops and went into the woods; he went to talk to Tsunade about nothing in particular; he retreated to the Adult section of Konoha's bookstore. Before the war he would have just trudged over to visit Obito and Rin, but once he'd caught her there, her fingers resting on Obito's name, and it had felt like such a violation of his personal space that he couldn't go back except for in the middle of the night, or when he knew she was away on missions.

It had been one of those days yesterday, from the moment she arrived at the gates to her curious quiet when they'd eaten. Glancing over at her now, masked and professionally clad as they waited for the expected Suna nin to arrive in the oasis, Kakashi knew this was foolish and irrational behavior, and maybe even downright harmful to both of them. He couldn't quite get his head around the _why_ of it, particularly considering the ease with which Naruto wove through his daily life and the predictability of his grudging meetings with Sasuke. Maybe it was because she was the only one who couldn't talk to Sasuke anymore—that last proclamation of love and devotion and his tactful move of shoving her into a genjutsu after she'd just help _save his slimy skin_ had broken something, finally, that she'd spent years trying to keep glued together. Now, her coldness towards Sasuke made his team seem all the more fractured for its apparent wholeness.

Maybe it was also because she had gone largely unacknowledged in the fight against Kaguya upon their return to the village. That fact never seemed to bother her; as she'd told him once, 'the important people know what happened.' But how could her ego keep taking these hits?

He heard Sakura sigh irritably and noticed her checking the watch she kept in her hip pouch—a present from her parents, he believed, for making jounin. The Suna nin were late. Which meant the caravan was already behind time. Shikamaru would call it a drag, and Kakashi was sure he agreed. This mission was already shaping up to be more trouble and strife than anticipated, and even as captain he knew absolutely _shit _about the whole situation and what it might lead to. The fact that it seemed to involve his kindest, pinkest, and only female student aggravated him, also, more than it should as an ANBU leader (and as an ex-teacher). Matsuo of the Sand seemed like an ordinary bloodsucking capitalist—Kakashi was biased, although who was he to judge when he made his living often by killing people?—with extraordinary connections. That was enough to warrant surveillance, sure, but ANBU surveillance? And a team of six? That took almost a fifth of the ANBU rotation out of commission for weeks. Sure, risk your life for the village. Of course, the Hokage knows more than you do. That was the blessing and curse of being Hokage. But some _information_ would be nice.

Sakura looked tired, he noticed, even after the extra hours of rest he'd slipped into the rotation for her. It was coddling, he knew, and she'd resent him if she'd found out, but thankfully his kindness had slid under her impressive favoritism-radar. Like she refused to complain to Kakashi about her apparent invisibility to the godlike shinobi who'd chuckled like proud, perverse grandfathers over her two teammates after they defeated Kaguya, she also never told Kakashi when she was tired. 'The sexism in this business is incredible,' she'd told him once. 'I could pound the bones of the assholes of the shinobi world into dust, but there are too many of them to bother. It almost makes you want to become a civilian.'

Maybe it was because of her battlefield partnership with Obito. Maybe that was it. Something had really, fundamentally bothered him about her willingness, or ability to work with his old teammate—or maybe even her apparent affinity with him? Maybe it was the very vague similarities between Sakura and Rin. Probably it wasn't. Maybe it was the fact that Obito's willingness to help Naruto and Sasuke had apparently meant so much to Sakura that she went to Kakashi's teammates' grave and placed her fingers on the sharp carved characters that were not hers to know. Maybe it was the fact that the tale of his team under the Yondaime was a story that he would have told her—told all of them—in completion, only _later. _And it had all come back far too soon. Reanimations. Really. He'd almost thrown up his hands.

It was hard to put his finger to the reason for his harsh discomfort with her. Right now, Kakashi was glad that she was wearing a mask; it made it slightly easier, in those odd moments of hating her, to treat her like a comrade, even as she mocked him with Naruto's foxlike smile (because if ever there was a face to give you guilt, it was Naruto's). But—

Something in the air changed and Kakashi banished thoughts of his two old teams for his current one. The idea that _I'm getting old _came to him unbidden. Next to him, Shino hummed. "Suna nin. Approaching with sand."

Sakura groused, "_Fin_ally," and Shikamaru grunted in agreement.

The Kazekage and his shinobi escort arrived with an unpleasant swirl of grit and wind: Gaara, his brother with the puppets—Kankurou?—a brown-haired girl, and two male nin sporting traditional head wrappings. Kakashi wiped a grainy patch of sand from his shirtsleeve and inclined his head to the party. "Kazekage-sama. Konoha ANBU at your—surprised—service. To what do we owe the honor?"

Gaara nodded as well, and his black-rimmed eyes roamed the masks before him, as if he was looking for someone in particular. His gaze hovered on Kakashi. "Taichou. I realize it is unusual for a kage to assign a mission in the field, but under the circumstances—" Gaara jerked his head in a way that Kakashi supposed meant "the desert"—"my sand has had to come into play."

So they'd been watching the caravan from afar, as he'd suspected since Tsunade had informed him of Gaara's likely presence. _How lovely_, Kakashi thought with exasperation, _to have had that luxury_. "How far away is the caravan?"

"Only fifteen kilometers, and moving about twice that fast every hour," one of the head-wrapped nin answered. "Their pace will slow as they continue through the desert. They'll most likely stop here in the next thirty minutes."

When Gaara made no move to add information to this response, Kakashi could feel his temper rise. "Kazekage-sama, what should we know about this caravan?" he asked directly, forgoing all diplomacy. "What is the object of this surveillance and how directly should we be involved?"

If the Kazekage was a man to purse his lips, Kakashi thought he might have done it then. "The daimyo of my country approved the movement of this caravan to Kumogakure without consulting me. As head of a hidden shinobi village, it is expected and necessary that I am told of communication with other nations' hidden villages—this is set down in our charter, however… _tenuous…_ that arrangement might be at times." Gaara may have hissed, and continued quite darkly. "This is not the first time the daimyo has neglected or violated protocol between our village and the country government, but this is the first time it has involved two other nations. The caravan has samurai guards bought from Iron and is heading to a hidden village in a land which has no use for its goods. I am suspicious. So is your Hokage. It seems that the daimyo of your country is also becoming quite interested in this company's wares."

Shikamaru's voice came from behind Kakashi, to his left. "Suspicious of what? An inter-country coup of hidden villages? Or just a trade monopoly?"

Gaara shrugged. "It may be that. It is probably something more complex. As it stands, I asked for a Konoha squad because I cannot spare so many shinobi at the moment. Sunagakure is undergoing some internal turmoil that must be seen to." In response to the question that tugged on all their lips, Gaara frowned and shifted his weight. "The village has been put under martial law for the time being."

"Threats to civilians?" Kakashi asked.

Puppet-man spoke up, looking almost accusingly at his brother. "No. Threats to the Kazekage. The daimyo has limited the village's water supply and people are getting angry. Shinobi as well as civilians."

"He does not like that I point out his dishonesty," the Kazekage said in a soft snarl. "He wishes for my village to suffer for my impertinence." Gaara gave off an angry vibe now; Kakashi nearly took a step back. Shukaku or no, the smaller man had retained the killer intent of a tailed beast. "It will not stand," Gaara added, a bit unnecessarily. "But I have to maintain an impression of calm subservience for now. A clone of my sand is in place currently, aided by my sister. The village needs water and we can only do so much while the daimyo holds control of the reservoirs. So: you are here less in the interests of Konoha than in the interests of shinobi villages as a whole. Since the war, we have all come under threat by our host countries."

Slowly, so slowly, pieces were fitting together. Too slow for Kakashi's liking. He felt Sakura next to him bouncing on her toes, as she did when she was itching to ask a question. He asked it instead. "You've been watching with sand. We cannot do that. We have long-range surveillance specialists here, but close contact with the caravan is unavailable to us."

Gaara nodded. "You three," he said, not taking his eyes off of Kakashi as the brown-haired girl and the two bandaged nin next to him stood at attention, apparently quite familiar with being addressed thusly, "watch for the caravan approaching. Report back when they are in sight." When the three had disappeared, Gaara exchanged an ambiguous glance with his brother, who nodded. The Kazekage focused his attention on Kakashi's squad again, and this time the jade eyes rested on the shortest member. "Sakura."

Kakashi already didn't like where this was going.

Sakura loosened her mask so that it fell just below her eyes and bowed a little in greeting. "Gaara. Kankurou-san. Good to see you."

"And you, sweetheart," Kankurou answered—most unprofessionally—and to the immediate distaste of Kakashi and, by the looks of it, the Kazekage. "You look better in pink."

Gaara did not berate his brother, though it looked like he'd have liked to. "Sakura, I asked for you specifically. I'm sure this has not escaped your notice. There are confidential reasons why we believe that you need to be the closest to the caravan. I am not sure yet how much to reveal—taichou, you must trust me, if you can, that this is crucial. There are aspects of Haruno Sakura's experience which may become particularly important."

He was talking to Kakashi but kept his eyes locked on Sakura, who flicked her gaze between the two brothers of the desert. This bothered Kakashi more than a little, but Sakura seemed to almost relax as the Kazekage stared uncompromisingly at her—it seemed, for a moment at least, that she understood something that she had not understood before. Shikamaru, from his small "hm," seemed also to have gained a dawning comprehension.

Annoying. Kakashi shrugged and raised an unseen eyebrow at Sakura when she turned to look at him over the rim of her mask. "We suspected as much," he said, pulling the same favor by looking at her and addressing the Kazekage. "How would you have us insert her?"

"The caravan has been assigned a group of Suna nin, since I found out about it. None of whom," he added in a black tone, "are particularly trustworthy. But this is a traditional guard for those who are easily weakened by the desert. The shinobi are to disband once they reach the border of our country and return to the village. Sakura will not take the place of these shinobi. They do not, in fact, know she is joining them."

"I'm going as a civilian?" There was no small amount of contempt in Sakura's tone. It almost made Kakashi smile.

Gaara's lips quirked. "No. You will be taking the place of an existing medic—one of the daimyo's rather extensive shinobi medic squad. She is called Tsukiko. She will have to be removed, although I would prefer that she not die—it might attract attention."

"They won't notice I'm a different person?"

Kankurou chuckled. "Wait til you see her. The daimyo likes his lady medics all wrapped up—it's some weird fetish." Kakashi thought briefly that Kankurou was the least justified in disparaging others' weird fetishes. "She's got a veil over her eyes and bandages all up her arms. Hair is covered and of a similar color to yours, anyway. But shorter. You'll fit in fine as long as you don't wow them—she's a chuunin level. Nothing special, just a basic field medic. And she almost hasn't said a word in the three days they've already traveled. The only trouble you might have is with the medic's assistant, but he's rather conveniently working for us. One of those few shinobi we _can_ trust."

"Why not just use him?" Kakashi asked.

Sakura answered for them. "Medic's assistants aren't usually allowed one-on-one access with patients. If one the daimyo's personal team is on board this caravan, it means that Matsuo of the Sand expects to be treated in person, if such a case arises." Kankurou nodded.

Kakashi held his hand up. "Wait. For clarification: you want this medic kidnapped and swapped with Sakura. You want us to hold this medic with us until—what? Hostages will slow us down."

Kankurou winked, and Kakashi wished he wouldn't. "That's where we come in. If you perform the switch tonight, we can take her back to Sunagakure for interrogation and holding, and send back what information we get."

Gaara looked at Kakashi again and spoke in that eerily calm voice. "Taichou. I would like to request direct and individual contact with Sakura while she is in-country." Kakashi felt himself bristle, but Gaara had anticipated this. "In order to act the part of a Wind native close to the daimyo, she will need information that we do not have time to relay in the next ten minutes. And in the open air of the desert, any efforts at contact your team possesses may be seen. After you come to covered land, we can resume more official contact between your squad and my office."

He was right; Shino's bugs could only talk to Shino, and Pakkun and Sai's birds might be seen by the caravan in such open terrain. Kakashi sighed. "You'll be giving her some of your sand, then?"

"Yes. A small patch on the skin that will react to her chakra." Gaara turned to Sakura, who was still watching Kakashi curiously over the rim of her mask. She now looked at the Kazekage. "You need only speak to it as if it were a transmitter. The message will reveal itself to me. I will be able to contact you in the same way."

She nodded, and Kakashi felt himself frowning. Disguised as a chuunin-level medic, Sakura would be safe enough; at least she could display some jutsu without being suspicious. Shino would keep bugs with the caravan and Neji would keep an eye on it. He would have to split the team, though; Sai and Shikamaru and Neji ahead of the caravan, scouting its next steps, and himself and Shino behind it. They would have to stay close enough for the transmitters to work—a couple kilometers apart at most. And camouflaging themselves in the sands would be tough work until they got out of Wind Country. He chewed on this for a moment before speaking again. "Okay. We'll get the real medic out when they stop here at the oasis," he ordered. "It's the only place they might be separated and perhaps relaxed."

The blandly-masked Sai moved a bit closer to Sakura. "That is coming quickly, then," she said quietly.

"Indeed." Kakashi glanced at Shino. "Could you provide a distraction? A, er—mild swarm?" Shino nodded. "Right. When they stop for water, a swarm comes up. You," he said, directing his gaze now to Shikamaru, "will hold her and force her away from the group. We'll have to move quickly to get her clothes and wrappings and belongings to Sakura. If they ask, you can pull damsel-in-distress."

"And the samurai?" Kankurou questioned. "They won't be taken too aback by a bunch of bugs."

Kakashi saw Shino stiffen and chuckled. "I wouldn't be so sure," he told the puppet master. "But most of them will still be guarding the goods of the caravan. It's the Suna nin we have to fool."

Very suddenly, Sakura interjected. "I would—I would like to have someone with me," she said in a rush.

Kakashi looked at her, surprised; her cheeks, or at least what he could see of them, were flushed, and her eyes were hard. "It makes strategic sense, taichou," she added, her voice steadier now. "The rest of you will be kilometers away in order not to be seen. If I'm traveling in a company of twenty or so samurai guards and, at least for a few days, a bunch of Suna nin, and something goes wrong, I might need immediate backup. And a second pair of eyes, at least. Surveillance can spare one more as the medic's assistant, if you don't mind losing your spy for one of ours."

There was a brief silence, then a sigh. Shikamaru, leaning against a tree, had raised his hand. "I'll do it. You don't need me for surveillance." Kakashi groused internally, but it made sense. If anyone was to join Sakura, it should be the master strategist; if anyone was to keep an eye on everything at once, it would be Shikamaru.

Gaara considered this. "I see no problem with that. You can take the assistant from the group in the same fashion as the medic?"

Just another snag in the plan. The caravan couldn't be more than five minutes away by now. Kakashi grunted out a "yes" and Gaara looked satisfied. "Kankurou will be with you to take the medic girl," he said. "I will be in contact with you after the caravan moves out from the open air. The assistant is Kota, but I doubt he has told anyone his name. The Suna nin are not aware of his presence."

Kakashi turned back to his team. "Form a perimeter in the short trees around the water source—Sakura and Shikamaru, mask yourselves in the brush to the west. Sai and Kankurou will be above you to take the two once you get them out of sight. Eyes on," he told Neji brusquely. "When the two are taken we'll need to do some quick changing. I suggest the two of you begin to disrobe in the scrub and be ready for their belongings to come to you."

Kankurou looked a little gleeful at the idea of being perched above Sakura as she changed; Kakashi felt his eye twitch. "To which part of the caravan do our two belong?" he asked tersely.

"The second-to-last car," Gaara answered. At least one of them was professional. "The guards have the last car as well as the first three, but patrol the whole caravan; the target is in the fourth and his assistants in the fifth. The next four are all cargo."

An approaching tap of feet signaled the return of the brown-haired kunoichi. "They're coming up the dune," she told the Kazekage. "Two minutes away."

Gaara nodded. "Position yourselves. Sakura," he said as Kakashi bid his squad to go, "your arm."

She held it out and Kakashi watched thin tendrils of sand snake up her pale skin and collect in a square patch on the underside of her forearm. _Better her than me,_ he thought, resisting the urge to shudder. It had to itch. She looked up at the Kazekage. "How short is her hair?"

Gaara blinked at her. "Shoulders."

"And, um—" Sakura let out a rather shaky breath. Kakashi couldn't fathom her nerves, but Gaara was peering at her with a sudden frown, as if he was seeing something he didn't like. Sakura appeared to be ignoring this; she swallowed and lifted her chin to the Kazekage. "Okay." She flexed her arm and the sand stirred slightly.

The Kazekage nodded to her in—what, thanks? Before backing away and disappearing in that same awful cloud of sand that had preempted him. Kakashi ran with Sakura to her place in the scrub, where Shikamaru was already taking off his shirt. Sakura unmasked herself and turned to Kakashi with glittering eyes. Was she tearful? "Taichou, cut my hair, please."

Kakashi was taken aback. "What?"

"Cut my hair, Kaka-sensei, come on. He said shoulder-length." She was taking off her shirt—thank heaven she was wearing mesh underneath—and sliding her pants down her hips. "Do it quickly, Kakashi, and take the hair, they're coming—"

Okay. Awkwardly, he gathered her hair into some semblance of a ponytail and took a kunai from his belt. Her hair was thick, and softer than he would have thought. The dark brown looked strange against her skin. Okay. One slice and it was done; it felt rather like severing a muscle. Newly freed, her hair fell against her neck and she thanked him; Kakashi leapt up into his hiding place next to Neji, holding onto the hair for lack of any idea what to do with it.

There was a rumble of wheels and voices as the caravan pulled up to the oasis. Kakashi spotted five samurai with big barrels to fill, several sunburned assistants, a couple of Suna nin who stood at the edge of the greenery, chatting with another, a swaggering and clean-shaven man with another guard following him—that had to be Matsuo of the Sand—and there, there were their targets, a smallish woman with a veil and wrappings all around her arms and neck and a slim man with traditional Suna wrappings around his mouth and longer, shaggy hair. Below him, he saw Sakura smooth her hair and Shikamaru let his down. Shikamaru wouldn't match the Suna spy perfectly, but it would have to be good enough. Most likely, no one in the caravan had paid attention to him.

As the group approached the water below, Kakashi spoke into his transmitter. "Now."

There was always something very satisfying about that—about giving the signal and watching the events he planned unfold. Especially if they were done well. One of the samurai stepped into a low bush; Shino's bugs suddenly exploded from it in a nice improvisational touch, startling the man, who gave a shout that was echoed throughout the oasis as the insects swirled around the scene. Kakashi watched the Suna nin on the edge carefully; if they were on their game they might sense the chakra in Shino's bugs. But they seemed to find the scene quite funny and made no move to intervene where there didn't seem to be real danger. _Nicely done_, Kakashi told himself.

The medic had dropped her canteen and was yelping, trying to bat away the insects surrounding her. Kakashi watched as a shirtless Shikamaru attached his shadow to her and her assistant the Suna spy, dragging them backwards among the chaos; the Suna nin struggled, but the medic was going backwards half of her own accord in an effort to avoid the bugs darting at her face.

When they were almost directly underneath them, Kakashi saw strings of blue and traced them below, to a dark rock that he assumed was one of Kankurou's puppets. As quickly as ROOT had taught him, Sai dropped to ground level and incapacitated the medic and assistant with two quick strikes to the back of their heads.

Sakura and Shikamaru busily went about stripping themselves and the unfortunate people whose identities they were stealing. Neji's voice sounded off in his ear. "The target is getting angry. He may call in the Suna nin or more samurai. Best to ease off on the swarm."

Kakashi saw: the burly Matsuo was in an uproar, swearing at the samurai who had apparently set off the torrent of insects above. The Suna nin now looked less amused than confused; apparently it wasn't natural for desert swarms to stick around for so long. "Copy. Ease up, Aburame. Shikamaru and Sakura, leave your transmitters when you go out."

The bugs began to lessen. Sakura looked up at him, all questioning green eyes now that her hair was covered by a white scarf, which she'd adjusted to cover the telltale diamond mark on her forehead. Wrappings went from her wrists to her shoulders and she'd stripped the medic of her white uniform: a skirt, a sleeveless and high-collared shirt, and black sandals. Her eyes were brilliant. Kakashi hoped they wouldn't be noticed. "The transmitters might attract attention," he said over the wire. "We'll be watching. We'll take your masks. Don't worry."

The last bit was unnecessary, he knew. But Sakura nodded and affixed her veil underneath the headscarf; it dulled the green of her eyes and left only her mouth clearly visible. She sent a smile up to her sensei and placed her transmitter on top of her clothing and her ANBU mask; Shikamaru did the same, and Sai took them both. With one last look appraising one another, Sakura and Shikamaru ventured out into the clearing, coughing and waving their arms to dispel the last of the bugs. The rock that was Kankurou's puppet scuttled over and cleanly trapped the two naked and unconscious nin inside.

Kakashi nodded as one of the samurai said something to Sakura and she smiled, turning away to fill a canteen at the water source, which she handed to Shikamaru. "We're good," he said. "They're in. Two at the head, two at the back—you know the drill." Silently, Neji and Sai disappeared; Shino stayed next to Kakashi and Kankurou until the caravan picked up pace again, all the barrels filled and repacked.

Kankurou nodded to them. "Alright then, I'm off with my cargo," he said amiably. "Thanks for all of this. I know the Kazekage appreciates it."

Shino nodded—brothers in weirdness, Kakashi supposed—and Kankurou vanished as well, in another one of those puffs of sand that must have come from his brother.

Kakashi craned his neck to see between the branches. He could make out Sakura's white-capped head and Shikamaru's lazy amble. "Be advised," he said into his transmitter. "Caravan is heading north-northeast. Stay some distance ahead and keep apprised of their movements. Relay any changes back. We'll fall behind in a couple moments here."

Sai's voice, clear as day. At least transmitters functioned beautifully in the open desert air. "Copy, taichou."

Kakashi stood from his crouch and felt something in his hand—he'd forgotten about the hair he'd cut from Sakura. He stood there, holding what he'd taken from her in a strangely fierce grip. Odd that he'd forgotten about it. A gust swept in from the north—the caravan would be moving against the wind. That was going to be a pain.

Kakashi opened his fist, which was starting to hurt, and Sakura's hair fell from his grip, separating and soaring on the wind.

He stretched his legs and remembered the first time he'd seen her with short hair, coming out of the Forest of Death with stab wounds and red eyes and a strangely uneven chop. He thought of her hands on Obito's shoulders, thick black lines traversing her face.

"Okay," he said to Shino. "Let's move."

* * *

><p>A veil and bandages might make for good protective clothing against pathogens and poisons, but <em>damn it<em> if they didn't make Sakura sweat like a fiend. The first two hours out in the open sun hadn't been too much of a problem—the head covering kept heat from absorbing into her newly-darkened hair and the sun had still been weak—but now that they had passed midday Sakura was starting to feel the day's heat collecting in the slow drips down her back and chin. It would make for a clammy night once the sun set. And her feet, pitifully unused to long, chakraless transport and in shoes just a little too big, were already hurting. But what kind of ANBU complains about sore feet?

Next to her, Shikamaru sighed, and she felt a small and physical pang of guilt or shame. He shouldn't have volunteered to come; he hadn't needed to come. It was just that when Gaara had been briefing them she'd felt the onset of another attack: the unceasing sound of her own heart, the thunderous roar of it in her ears, and, always, the approaching blackness, and Inner Sakura's despicably cheerful whistle. _**You'll fail…**_

Sakura had snapped, suddenly, remembering what Tsunade had said. 'Find someone to help' or something like that. Someone she could trust to act and not overreact if such a panic occurred during the mission. Secretly, she'd hoped for Shikamaru; he'd already seen her first attack during their last mission together, and she didn't want to have to explain herself to anyone. Shikamaru, while at least more conversational than Shino, wouldn't ask questions the way Sai or Kakashi or even Neji might. Hyuuga Neji, with his unceasing calm and his curious pale eyes, his tendency to see through and into her. More than anything, she did not like losing herself in front of someone like Hyuuga Neji.

_I will not lose myself. I will not. This is only anxiety, and it will stop._

"What are you thinking?"

Shikamaru was looking at her questioningly, and she felt her cheeks warm underneath the veil. "Only that we still have so little to go on," she answered quietly, acutely aware of the revolving presence of all twenty samurai around the caravan.

He nodded. "I've been thinking the same thing. But—"

"You have a plan."

Shikamaru looked annoyingly self-satisfied. "Yes, I do, and you won't like it. There's not much we can do with the Suna nin escort, after all—too much risk of them sensing us if we use techniques of any kind." He paused to check that no one was close and ambled a little closer to Sakura, ducking his head like a subordinate. Rather perversely, Sakura rather liked that view. "I was thinking that we might stage an accident with our target."

She nodded and clasped her hands together, as if showing a healing technique; anyone looking might think they were talking shop. "What kind of accident?"

"One requiring medical attention." Shikamaru shrugged and mimicked her hand gesture—incorrectly, so that she had to pretend to take time to instruct him on the proper form. "Nothing serious: a trip or slip at the next oasis, or a pothole in the road that, if we're lucky, jars him enough to make him consider needing your services. He seems to spend quite a bit of time in his personal car, so it might be best to try to get him there."

Sakura huffed. "Don't blame him. I wouldn't mind getting out of this awful heat."

"Better get used to it. Oi, look—we have company."

Sakura looked at his hand; two small beetles rested there, resting their wings on his skin in a distinctly unnatural way. One of them landed on Sakura's exposed neck—it felt somehow sweet. Shino's insects, taking samples of their chakra.

"There's a Stage Two of this plan, though," Shikamaru said. "I thought you ought to try getting to know him when you're in there."

"Getting to know him? As in, friendly jokes, slap-on-the-shoulder knowing? Or, you know, private kunoichi lessons at the Academy learning?"

Shikamaru quirked his lips and repeated the gesture, this time getting it correct. "The latter. A little flirtation never hurt anyone, especially if he gets comfortable enough around you to get sloppy. And if his file and what we've seen of him are any indication, and my analysis is up to speed, he'll be happy for the attention."

Sakura patted him on the shoulder. "I have to say, I'm not much of a seductress. Flower-arranging was the only bit I was good at, and that was all Ino's help."

"You can't flower-arrange yourself into _this_ guy's lap and you're less of a threat than I thought," Shikamaru quipped, and Sakura almost laughed.

"You're going to get us caught only hours in," she muttered. "_Kota_."

"Yare, yare. Don't worry. We've got some backup." He looked pointedly at her arm, where she felt the sand stirring as if responding to his look. It creeped her out more than a bit, this sand, as had Gaara when he'd put it there. He'd looked her in the eye like he could see what was happening, like he was talking to Inner rather than her. It was the first time she could remember being touched by his sand so delicately, so precisely. It was almost like an art, the way it coiled up her arm and shifted now against her skin. It was clear it called out to the far-away Kazekage, but it also responded to her chakra, rising and falling with natural cycles.

"Kota," she asked quietly, "how does the Kazekage react with his sand now that Shukaku is gone?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "No idea. You'd have to ask a Hyuuga for that. But loss of the demon wouldn't change his abilities, only lessen them in some ways—de-automatize his responses, for example. Still," he added, his voice a little dark, "worth remembering that that sand is soaked in blood. That carries no small amount of power with it, and probably some significance, too."

Interesting. "Significance? As in… ano… spiritual significance?"

She'd predicted Shikamaru's scoff; he never held much stock in the spiritual aspect of chakra beyond what mattered for its useful practice. "I don't know about that. But absorbing the natural chakra of so many people, and in such ways… theoretically, it would grant the sand a certain affinity to chakra in general. A natural object made not-quite-natural." He glanced over at her. "Why?"

She folded her arms. "It responds to me. I know it's supposed to, but I've never felt anything like this before—like—"

The voice rang like bells at a funeral. _**That's not true.**_

Instant dizziness. Sakura blinked and kept walking. Forced herself to breathe deeply as her airway seemed to constrict.

"Like?" Shikamaru's voice called her back, a line thrown. There was definite fear in her now, a nervousness that had nothing to do with what Inner might do to her or what was happening inside her head. She was on a mission. She was on a _mission. _And she was undercover. She couldn't let herself fall to pieces, or she wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

One foot in front of the other. She shook her head. "Like something foreign—something else—is coming into sync with me—changing my own rhythm as it changes its own."

Shikamaru slowed his pace to fall a couple steps behind her. She heard his smirk. "Doesn't that happen with you women all the time?"

She felt no reserves about blowing their cover by turning to deliver a sound smack to the back of his head. Shino's bugs swerved neatly out of the way.

* * *

><p>Neji deactivated his Byakugan and spoke into his transmitter. "The kikaichu have found them. The caravan is still heading north—they look to be heading towards a path leading to the border. It's a commercial route. They'll meet a small village by nightfall."<p>

After a moment, Shino's voice crackled into being. "The beetles will report back occasionally. Nothing unusual yet found. Nara has been thinking."

"Do we know what their plans are?" Neji asked.

"Negative," Kakashi answered. "But they will be impatient to find something. Keep a close eye, especially at night. You didn't see anything odd about the cargo?"

"Nothing."

"Then keep that distance."

"Hai."

Sai had been looking over the dunes for the whole exchange. Neji stood from his crouch and joined him: the sun was burning a white streak in the cloudless western sky. They'd long ago put their traveling cloaks on to avoid sunburn, but the heat was getting oppressive.

Sai clipped a scroll on his pack more securely. "What else did you see?"

Neji started—how had he known? The masked face was as impassive as the real one underneath it. "What do you mean?"

"You tensed slightly, watching the caravan. And you hesitated before you answered taichou." His partner's voice was annoyingly light and cheerful. "I have learned body language from watching my teammates interact," he added, as if explanation was wanted or warranted. "It comes in handy for those with masks."

"I'm sure your teammates give you much to study," Neji muttered. The functionality and dysfunctionality of the remade Team Seven was well known. "Our kunoichi undercover."

"Sakura. The hag."

"Yes—Sakura." It was not ANBU code to use real names during the mission, but this one had come together so quickly and so oddly that it seemed hardly to matter. Neji opened his mouth, ready to explain that her chakra had flared again, circling out from her forehead in one quick pulse. But for some reason it didn't feel like something worth telling. "She punched Shikamaru. She has too much temper for ANBU work sometimes." He marked the time. "We should move ahead. We'll be in their line of sight soon."

Sai nodded and the two sprung away. Neji heard Sai give a thoughtful 'hmm' and, quite conscientiously, didn't ask why—but of course Sai answered anyway. "She would not do something out of line with her role," he said. "She has gotten better at controlling her anger. I would know."

Yes. Of course. But Hyuuga Neji shrugged it off: the control problems of the medic were of no problem so long as she could still perform well. The flashes at her forehead that he'd picked up on so recently had probably always been there since she'd started storing chakra there. Still, it annoyed him for reasons he could not place. "Her emotional state," he said tersely, "should not have to be a concern of the mission."

"Yes." Sai spoke mildly, as was his way. "But it is mine."

He leapt past Neji, who couldn't help but wish that he'd been sent ahead on his own.

* * *

><p>Tsukiko's box in the caravan car that Sakura and Shikamaru shared didn't have much in it, which was rather troubling—Sakura had hoped to glean some information about the girl to beef up her rather mediocre acting skills. But here, spread out on the pallet, this was all she had: a comb with a heavy white handle, a photo of an older woman that had to be Tsukiko's mother, a small personal stock of generic medical ingredients and hygienic gloves, a stack of extra clothing including a thickly-lined cloak, and sheaves of unmarked paper. "So. A writer—a journal-keeper? Not a medic's notebook. Maybe a diary." Sakura rubbed a piece of paper between her thumb and forefinger—it was thick and smooth, and creamy white. "Expensive. But no pen…" Sakura scraped inside the box again, to no avail. Had Tsukiko forgotten a pen? Not likely. Maybe she'd been carrying it and it had dropped during the panic at the oasis? Okay, come back to that later. The heavy comb. "Ceramic? No—ivory. Also expensive." Medics weren't usually paid that much. Maybe a daimyo's medics were. Maybe she should change professions. There was hair in it, brown hair, but not much, which meant Tsukiko cleaned it. That and the perfectly-folded clothing… "A neat freak. Or at least very organized. And clean." The photo was self-explanatory; she cared for her mother a great deal.<p>

Put it all together and what did she get? Not fucking much. Sakura rubbed her forehead. The caravan rumbled under knees and she shifted position, settling into a cross-legged seat. She'd hopped in the car when the sun had begun to set, telling Shikamaru loudly that she needed a rest. Now, as her car slowly rolled to a stop, there was a rap at the door. She opened it and peeked outside, mussing her headscarf to make it look like she'd been lying down. Shikamaru had put his hair back in a low ponytail, apparently unable to stand it hanging at his neck anymore. "Tsukiko." He nodded to her. "We're on the outskirts of a village. Hosh-san here—" he jerked his head towards an armor-clad young man who looked rather slim to be a samurai—"informs me that we're stopping for the night."

Sakura stepped down from the car and tugged her scarf straight. "That was a lovely nap—thanks for giving me a break, Kota," she said breezily to Shikamaru. "Hosh-san?"

"Tsukiko-san, you look quite refreshed." The samurai looked up at her rather eagerly. She hoped that they hadn't already talked much, or this would be difficult.

She chuckled. It couldn't hurt to be friendly. "I'm sorry to come out looking like springtime when you've been walking the whole time. Did you say we're staying the night here?"

Hosh nodded. He had a full beard, she noticed, which had to be hot under that helmet and the sun. She guessed him to be around twenty-seven. "Matsuo-sama is staying in the town. We'll restock. So dinner's not a family affair tonight—either eat in town or go to the kitchen car by yourself."

Hm. So dinner was usually all of the caravan members together? That would make observing Matsuo a little easier. But then there was still the matter of the cargo—how to inspect it with so many damn samurai hanging around? "Do you think it would be alright to walk around the village?" Sakura asked. "Just for a little."

Hosh chuckled and shook his finger at her. "Now, now, girl, you know the rules. The medic stays with the caravan. Your minion here can go, though, if you need anything. Or I'd be happy to ask someone else to."

Shikamaru's face expressed exactly what he thought of being called her minion. Sakura felt a twinge of annoyance—she'd have to be with the caravan the entire time? She feigned resignation with a sigh. "You're right. I suppose it's for the best, in case someone gets hurt. Well—Kota, could you do me a favor? It's not desperate, but it'd be good to have some more, um, gloves. We're fully stocked now, but you never know, and it's not like we can reuse them."

"The shops will probably be closed," Hosh advised. "And I don't know that this place will have medical gloves."

Shikamaru nodded to Sakura, quirking an eyebrow. "No matter. I'll look _very_ hard."

"Take all the time you need," she told him. "I'll finish up that inventory."

Hosh watched Shikamaru walk away rather cheerfully_. _"Don't forget to sign out with Arashi-sama!" He pointed to a samurai at the front of the caravan, a beefy man with a gray beard and two heavy-looking swords strapped to his waist and Shikamaru nodded, changing course to give his name. Sakura waited until he'd safely passed the gates of the village before turning back to the car.

"Tsukiko-san," Hosh said from behind her, and she turned around, "I thought you didn't like him very much! Didn't you say only yesterday that he should, and I quote, 'eat sand?'"

Sakura had to muffle her laugh, but this was rather concerning news. So she and Hosh had gotten close enough to make fun of her assistant together? Apparently she was pulling off their friendship well enough now, but what if he referenced something else later on? She hoped fervently that the real Tsukiko was awake and under interrogation. "He's still a moron," she conceded, "but he did help me when those bugs swarmed us at the oasis. I can handle blood and bones, but having those tiny wings in my face—" She gave a shudder that was half-real and heard a rather angry buzzing by her ear. _Sorry, Shino's pals._ "Kota calmed me down."

Hosh winked. "Bet he likes you. Boys are always rude to girls they like. 'Til it counts."

"Well then, Hosh-san, you must hate me very much," she joked. "But I don't think you're quite old enough yet to be dispensing wisdom on the ways of love. Excuse me, though—I really do have to finish this inventory."

It had been a gamble—a joke and a quick dismissal. But he had joked with her first, so her odds were good—and indeed, Hosh chuckled. The air left her mouth in a whoosh; she turned again to go back into the car, but Hosh had grabbed her hand.

_Uh-oh._ He was looking through her veil now, trying to peer at her eyes. "I know enough about the ways of love, Tsukiko-san," he said with barely-concealed eagerness. "Don't you remember?"

_Shit._ She'd been intimate with this guy, and he was guarding her caravan car? _What a mess._ Sakura couldn't help the blush that spread over her face, although in this case that was probably a good thing. Quickly calculating her moves, she pulled her hand from his. "Hosh-san," she said, trying to make her voice both breathless like Hinata and Temari-style firm, "I am here as a professional, and so are you. It's not the time."

Her would-be samurai lover looked put out, but didn't argue. "It's a long trip with only me and your assistant by your side," he said with a half-grin. "And I _know_ you at least like me more than him."

_Not fucking likely._ Sakura pursed her lips but didn't dare do anything else until she knew more about Tsukiko's personality. Her guesses had been on point so far, but it wasn't worth pushing. "Good night, Hosh-san," she said primly, and launched herself into the caravan car.

She knelt again on the pallet, frustrated at the ludicrousness of it all, and waited to hear Hosh trundle back to his post slightly away from the car before unwrapping the bandages on her left arm. Sakura had checked the car earlier, and the only bugs to be found were Shino's. She waved one away now. "Go look at someone else's chakra," she muttered. "Haven't you had enough of mine?"

Exposed, Gaara's sand took the liberty of running up and down her arm. It made her shiver. "I have a message," she said quietly, but the sand didn't stop moving. She assumed it was listening—or whatever. "Tsukiko has had an intimate relationship with one of the samurai. Name of Hosh. I need stories, behaviors—anything that can help. Of anyone, he would blow our cover." She paused. "We may create a distraction tomorrow. Something to get Matsuo out of his caravan car and maybe even need medical attention. Details following." Another pause. The sand was floating now. It moved over her cheekbones and under her ears. She felt distinctly odd. Her heart was thundering again. "Whatever information acquired about the daimyo—please send my way." The sand briefly skimmed over her forehead. "Over and out."

In a flash, it was gone, save for a slim band around her wrist. She guessed that it was better to leave some extra while the rest traveled, in case of emergency. Sakura began re-wrapping her bandages, trying to ignore the dryness in her mouth, when she heard it for the second time that day.

_**You should have him.**_

Inner Sakura's voice was insidious and smooth, almost like Orochimaru's. Sakura felt bile rising in her throat again, whether from nerves or something else she didn't know. The room was spinning, but it was intact. She breathed deeply through her nose. _Have whom? _she asked in as dry a tone as she could muster.

_**The samurai. He might tell you things. And plus…**_

Sakura put her head between her knees and closed her eyes, still working on her breathing. It might be better not to engage. She silently went rehearsed the ingredients for an antidote in her head. _Boil for seven minutes, simmer for two. Cool and—_

A throb of skull-splitting pain. A flash of blackness, and Sasuke was there, punching through her stomach as it seemed he did when he'd put her under that genjutsu.

_**You can't ignore me.**_

_Okay._ Sakura opened her eyes. Sasuke was gone—only the warm, flickering light of the lantern in the middle of the caravan car was with her. If she had to deal with Inner like she had when she was twelve, she could. If it meant no more hallucinations—no problem. _What do you want?_

_**I'm helping. Pay attention to the samurai.**_

_That's all? No nightmares? No choking? No puke?_

_**You're the one who makes that happen. Not me.**_

Sakura swallowed down the sour taste. "I'll pay attention," she said, only realizing secondhand that it had been out loud.

A second later, Shikamaru was opening the caravan car door. "Pardon?"

She couldn't help but giggle. "Talking to myself." Breathing was easier now. And there was no more pain.

"Crazy women," he muttered. Louder: "No more gloves. Hosh was right—none of the shops were open." He shut the door and came close, kneeling next to her. "I saw the inn he's staying at tonight, but there was no way to get in without being made. I was only given an hour to walk around. We'll have to get him out tomorrow."

"It's been an hour?" she asked. Her voice was hoarser than she'd expected.

Shikamaru blinked at her. "Yeah. What have you been doing?"

"Oh, you know." Sakura pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until grainy dots of white and black and purple appeared under her lids. "Getting into trouble."


	5. diagnoses

A/N: These chapters have been a little full of navel-gazing and plodding character development, and for that I'm sorry. But I want to make sure that, upon assuming different POVs, you guys have an accurate representation of everyone's mental states. I've tried to keep a narrative style that's flexible enough to encompass a couple key characters. Let me know how it works out! More plot action is coming up.

As always, constructive criticism and reviews are SO MUCH APPRECIATED. Thanx 3

* * *

><p><strong>five: diagnoses<strong>

When their caravan car began moving again, with a rattle and a jolt, Shikamaru woke up on his back with the sneaking suspicion that he hadn't really slept. Turning his head to the left, he found Sakura still asleep, lying on her stomach with her arms folded beneath one of the terribly flat pillows assigned to them. She was sleeping peacefully, apparently; slow and deep breaths showed in the rise and fall of her back from the pallet. Her darkened hair splayed over her arm, curled against her cheek.

It must be just dawn, Matsuo returned from his more comfortable room at the inn. Shikamaru sighed and found himself staring at the ceiling again. No point in getting up yet, not when it just meant walking in the dry desert heat for the whole damn day and so long as Sakura wasn't awake to yell at him for not being 'on the job.' He always thought better in bed, anyway. So. Arms behind his head, mirroring Sakura's position, he assessed their situation.

The Kazekage's sand had come back later in the night, seeping through the cracks in the walls of their car and rather alarmingly taking the form of Gaara himself. The clone had spoken quietly to them, relaying information in the Kazekage's usual terse tones. The real Tsukiko had been on the daimyo's personal staff for only a year, but had apparently caught her superiors' eyes quite early on in her tenure as assistant medic. Her favorable position amongst the bosses had put her in close contact with the daimyo's day-to-day, and due to a chronic illness of the daimyo's she'd even sat in on some of his meetings with Matsuo of the Sand. One such meeting had led to a brief nighttime encounter with one of Matsuo's hired guards, the smitten Hosh.

The sand-Gaara had told them that they were still interrogating the girl, but that she already seemed frightened enough by her circumstances—enough to spill what he'd just related to them, anyway. She described her relationship with Hosh as—here the sand-Gaara had looked just the _slightest_ bit disgusted—'passionate' but 'brief' and, he'd added with a miniscule sigh, 'they had been drinking.' "The girl charms," the clone had said. "She is quiet until asked to speak, and then she persuades. A social climber. She came from a poor civilian family and is determined to not end there."

The Suna nin who had pretended to be her assistant had been nearly unresponsive to everyone but her, so that was easy enough to act on Shikamaru's part. And Sakura could be charming when she wanted to—at least, Hosh had seemed charmed enough the day before. 'Brief' and 'passionate'—_heh_.

Would she sleep with him? That was one possible route, but Shikamaru didn't much like it. For one thing, he reasoned silently, watching their suspended lantern bob and swing with the roll of the caravan car, Hosh might above all remember the sex. If Sakura acted differently in the moment, and of course if Hosh noticed that her body was different, it was all over. Secondly, it reduced the chances of getting Sakura in with Matsuo of the Sand, the main target and surely more useful to them as a source than a second-tier hired security guard. Thirdly, although this was not strictly a strategic concern: it was a little repulsive. He was sure kunoichi learned how to bend and break men with sex as their weapon—he'd heard of it from Ino, at least—but for an ANBU-level jounin it was an unnecessary and crude sort of information-gathering tactic. Better information came from withholding oneself than giving it all away.

Sakura had seemed oddly into the idea, though, which had been mildly surprising. "Hosh might know more than we think he does," she'd said quietly, knees tucked to her chest. "He has the air of someone who thinks he's more important than he is, and who might like to prove it. And he wouldn't be able to see through a henge, I don't think." She'd spoken quietly and confidently, but her eyes had bothered him—they'd looked slightly darker, and for a moment something like shame had flitted across them. "I say we give it another couple of days," she'd said. "But if we can't get anywhere with Matsuo and we still can't search the cargo within half a week's time, I should make a move on Hosh."

He'd nodded his assent. It worked as a last resort, if nothing else. But he was a Nara; he rarely got to his last resorts.

"Shik—Kota," Sakura murmured next to him. "Rise and shine."

He looked over again—she was propped up on her elbows and combing her hair back with her right hand. He hadn't noticed her awaken. _Sloppy_. He sighed. "I was hoping you'd sleep longer."

"Why?"

"So _I_ could sleep longer."

She chuckled at that and pushed herself up. In one of those deft wrist movements that only women seemed to know how to do, she tied her hair up in the white scarf. "You were plotting."

"That's so." Shikamaru pushed himself up and immediately felt the strain of yesterday in his upper thighs. _What a pain_. "Given Gaara's information, I think we should act sooner rather than later on getting Matsuo out of his private cabin—or getting you in it and treating him."

"Agreed." She was affixing the veil to her headscarf. Shikamaru saw sand drifting lazily around her wrist. "How much longer are we in the desert?"

He calculated. They'd started the mission about halfway between the lands of Fire and Wind and there were no more villages of any substance worth stopping for, so unless Matsuo really wanted to delay his journey—which would be suspicious for a commercial caravan, which should try to travel as fast as possible so as to maximize profit— "Two, three more days at most," he answered. "If I know Gaara and his tender mercies, the real you will have confessed everything shortly, so that shouldn't be a problem." He glanced again at the patch of the Kazekage's sand on her forearm as she unwrapped the bandages from its writhing shape.

Strange, Gaara's decision to stick her with some of his sand. Strange for several reasons. 1) His sand used his chakra, but responded to Sakura's as well—maybe feeding off of it? She would be able to tell if it was, and she hadn't said anything. But carrying around a snippet of the Kazekage's chakra had to be as discomfiting as it looked. 2) It seemed like a deeply personal thing, a literal bit of Gaara for them to carry around—well, for Sakura to carry around. A deep, physical link between the two of them and their energies. Shikamaru had to admit that there was something profound about assigning chakra to someone else, even if all the sages' stuff about cosmic order and balance and whatever exhausted him.

So. 3) The donation of the sand was a sign of either deep trust or deep mistrust, and both possibilities were concerning. Surely Gaara held Sakura in high regard as one of Naruto's friends, as a renowned medic, and as a sure fighter, but did that put her on so high a pedestal as to entrust her with his own spooky chakra? And if it was just an excuse to keep an eye—an _incredibly close, incredibly creepy eye_—on her: to what purpose? Why ask for Sakura specifically? Why—

A sharp pain. _Ow._ Sakura was poking him in the ribs, looking exasperated. "You can't just drift off like that. What's the plan? We should get outside soon and make our presence known."

Shikamaru grimaced. "Tell the sand that we'll wait another day. I want to watch Matsuo another day and find a pattern. We'll get to him before we leave the country, but we're not established in our roles yet. We have to wait."

Sakura nodded and stripped the last of the bandages from her forearm. "We'll need Hyuuga eyes to see into his caravan car. He never left it yesterday."

Shikamaru stood up and rolled his shoulders back. "You can tell the sand that, too. He'll pass it on to our squad."

"Gaara won't be happy with the delay." She grinned. "Or for being treated like a messenger."

He shrugged. "Gaara's never happy."

Sakura looked at him with curiously green eyes that were not quite veiled by the white mesh that stood between them and his own, and laughed. "Neither are you."

* * *

><p>Kakashi's voice sounded off gruffly in Neji's left ear. "The Kazekage says our two need your eyes."<p>

"Copy. I'm already looking. Anywhere in particular?"

There was a pause that may have been conveying amusement, although it was hard to tell over the transmitter, and Neji had no idea what he might've said to elicit silent laughter. "All eyes on the target. We need a pattern so they know when to disrupt the caravan."

"Aa. I watched him yesterday as well." Matsuo came into focus with little difficulty. He was in his car—a well-furnished one, with multiple lanterns and a proper mat for sleeping—sitting at a desk, writing memos or missives. Same as he'd done yesterday at this time. "How can I transmit the information?"

"Give me a full report at the end of the tomorrow; I'll tell Gaara, Gaara tells our girl."

_Our girl._ An odd way of referring to her. Next to him on the dune, shielding his head from the sun with his cloak, Sai spoke. "That is an indirect mode of transmission. And inefficient."

"Can't get to the caravan," Shino answered. "Too many samurai."

"She has the sand for a reason. Gaara took her out of the chain of command," Kakashi said. "She speaks to us through him."

"That is not in line with protocol," Sai murmured.

Neji could almost hear Kakashi shrug. Matsuo was tapping his pen against the desk, apparently thinking. He could tell that the man was incredibly fit for a civilian; his chakra, though not a shinobi's, surged cleanly through his body, with few obstructions or stutters. _He meditates_. Owning an agricultural conglomerate didn't correlate with much inner peace otherwise.

"The Hokage's instructions were clear," Kakashi answered serenely, "and they included deferring to the Kazekage until we left his country. We're relaying information back to Konoha every second day. When we're out of Wind, we'll initiate contact with our two in the next town. So. All clear?"

"Hai, taichou."

Neji said it automatically. He was peering through the great sloping dunes as the caravan got closer, watching Matsuo stand from his desk. The big man appeared to be knocking on the door of his caravan, which opened shortly after. A plainly-dressed youth—again, not a nin, probably an assistant—handed him something. A covered dish. Rice and vegetables. _He eats well and sparingly. And at eleven-thirty. Early lunch._

Next to him, Sai shifted. "What do you see?"

"A man who takes care of himself—Matsuo follows a strict health regime, it seems." Neji pulled his vision back slightly to watch the assistant return to the kitchen car, where a healthy stash of knives swung ominously from their hooks on the wall and a large coal fire hosted several pots. That was useful information, too.

"Routines are good," Sai said with an assassin's approval. "Routines make the job easy."

Neji nodded and swung his eyes around again to watch Sakura and Shikamaru walk together by their shared car. The samurai who had approached them earlier was watching Sakura's back with prolonged interest, which both Sakura and Shikamaru appeared to realize; Neji saw Shikamaru chuckle and Sakura blush, which appeared in his Byakugan like an opaque surge of energy to the cheeks. He felt himself chuckle. _What kind of kunoichi blushes at that?_

Movement caught his eye; the Kazekage's chakra surged and fell on her arm underneath the bandages that constrained it. Granules of sand had crept up Sakura's shoulder and appeared to settle along her forehead, clustering on the points of the small diamond underneath her headscarf.

In a moment, Sakura turned her gaze in his direction—always an unnerving moment, when one's subject appeared to notice her own surveillance, but one that frequently occurred when using the Byakugan. It had taken young Neji months to keep from flinching when someone he was watching absently turned their head in his general direction. He remembered chanting to himself as a child, as if to bedtime monsters (not that he'd ever had any): _They can't see you. They can't see you._

_She can't see you._

But her eyes seemed to focus right on his own, even from so far a distance. He wondered briefly if she _did_ know he was watching. Set in the black and white of the Byakugan, her eyes looked luminescent. It was impossible, he reminded himself. No one could sense the Byakugan unless they were near enough to sense his chakra at work. And even then—not likely. ANBU learned to mask themselves well.

Sai's scrolls rattled in the dry, hot wind, a sound that startled Neji into finally zooming out from Sakura's eyes, which had flicked back towards Shikamaru anyway. "They're getting closer," he told Sai quietly. "We should move back a few more kilometers."

Sai nodded and spoke into the transmitter. "Taichou. Moving forward. Anything from the kikaichu?"

Shino answered quietly. "Some minor chakra disturbances. The Kazekage's chakra interfering. Most likely. Nothing else but Nara, planning."

Neji grimaced involuntarily. "The bugs can sense that?"

"The Nara clan exudes considerable mental energy," Sai said, as if reciting from a textbook. "There must be some element of it that the insects can sense. A change in electrical fields."

"Hm." What a clan technique—could it even be considered, truly, part of their kekkai genkai? Sheer intelligence. _Mental_ energy. The exertion of thousands upon thousands of ordinary human neurons.

Kakashi spoke next. "Move ahead, Group Two. They're on your heels. Keep an eye out."

* * *

><p>The day passed with surprising quickness.<p>

She and Shikamaru had walked the entire time and mostly in silence, with eyes on the samurai guard and on Matsuo's caravan car. The big man himself had come out in midafternoon to stretch his legs and confer with his assistant, who had been sweating streams in his heavy cloth uniform since late morning, but other than that had stayed in what Shikamaru had called dryly 'the luxury suite.'

Sakura'd gotten a good look at him, careful to peer unsuspiciously from beneath her veil. Matsuo moved like a fighter, all hulking shoulders and widespread legs; he wasn't enormous like Chouji or packed with muscle like Zabuza had been, but his frame was solid and emanated a definite strength that differed widely from, say, Kakashi-sensei's sly litheness, or even Naruto's coiled, concentrated muscle. He had longish dark hair, tied back low at his neck, and wore plain, elegant clothing in beige and white to counter the sun and its pervasive heat. He'd spoken curtly to his assistant, stretched his arms, and exchanged some words with the head of the samurai guard—Arashi—before returning to his car. He was an objectively attractive man, and not one of those that emanated oiliness or sleaze; he looked like a well-built and well-living businessman, and that was all.

And there was nothing as ominous as a man who looked too perfectly normal.

Now, as the caravan party sat in clumps around a fire that did little to illuminate the surrounding desert, Matsuo was getting out of his caravan car again, his assistant carrying a tray.

Next to her, Shikamaru clucked his tongue. "Dinner with the company?"

Sakura swallowed her soup. It helped cut the chill from the empty air around them. "He must feel cooped up."

"Caravan traveling is throwing him off," Shikamaru noted quietly. "He looks frustrated. Probably not used to such little contact with people after daily meetings at home. And the company of the daimyo."

"Mm." She eyed their target with her next sip from the bowl. "That's good. He'll talk more."

"Maybe so. But business is diplomacy, and diplomats know how to keep their secrets. He might be frustrated for lack of company, but he's not going to spill easy. The best way," he reasoned, "would be to exploit something he's missing from his daily routine at home. Something he can't get on the road."

Sakura frowned in thought. A cluster of samurai coming back from the kitchen car were guffawing over someone's joke, inevitably something lewd. She felt quite conscious, suddenly, of being the only female in the caravan—not that it was unusual for a kunoichi to be the sole female in a group, but she was out of her element among a slew of swordsmen. "I'm sure he's got everything he wants," she murmured, "or could get it in the towns we pass. Including women and, I don't know, simple pleasures—booze or better food, or whatever else he gets at home."

"No, I mean something that's missing from his routine." Shikamaru paused and put his bowl down on soft sand. "If we're watching him carefully enough, we'll be able to pick out what's missing—when he's listless, when he's at a loss for something to do. We can piece it together well enough once we know more about his day-to-day. But boredom," he said ominously—"that's what kills."

"When do you think we'll hear back?" Doubtless Kakashi-sensei had assigned Neji to have his eyes on Matsuo. She wondered briefly if he was watching now—if, given enough concentration, she could feel out where the Byakugan was focused, as if Neji and the rest of the team was connected to them by invisible tendrils that she could trace if only she tried hard enough.

"My guess would be the end of tomorrow. We'll have been on the move for three days, and Tsukiko will have been interrogated for that long, too—at our next message from the Kazekage, it'll be time. Oi—look who it is."

Sakura glanced up to see Hosh striding towards them, bowl in one hand and a napkin in the other. He'd removed his helmet, the side of which he'd tucked into his belt—his hair was slicked back by the day's sweat, and he'd trimmed his beard close to his face. Shikamaru sounded amused. "I think he _groomed_ for you."

"Fuck off_,_" she muttered cheerfully, smiling for Hosh's benefit as he crunched his way closer to their side of the fire.

"Tsukiko-san, assistant-san," Hosh greeted them. Shikamaru grunted and nodded; Sakura did her best to both shine and act subdued about it. "How was the hike for you today?"

"Not so bad, Hosh-san," she answered, smiling up at him with as little encouragement as she could muster. "Being a medic has its perks. No blisters."

"Good. You've got pretty little feet, Tsukiko-san, and I wouldn't want them hurting."

"That's…_sweet_." She was pretty sure Shikamaru was holding in laughter.

"Speaking of sweet—" Hosh squatted to be on eye-level and held the napkin out to her. "I stole you something from the kitchens. You told me, that night, that you liked plums—"

He was definitely holding in laughter. Sakura didn't have to fake her blush. "Hosh-san, I told you yesterday, I'm here as a professional—"

He grabbed her hand and it took all of her available will to tamp down her training and let him move it to grasp the plum, round and firm beneath the cloth. His hands were warm, and despite herself she looked up at him. "I don't mean anything by it," he said softly. His eyes were kind. She wondered how she could possibly be fooling him—the night he'd spent with Tsukiko must have been brief indeed. He must have been quite drunk. So why was he so attached? "It's for you. No strings. I promise."

She snatched her hand back, but gave him a smile and unrolled the napkin. The fruit caught the light of the fire and she cradled it in her palm. "It's kind of you," she said finally. "Arigatou."

"It's nothing," he insisted, straightening. From across the fire, Sakura saw Arashi looking at them with a severe frown. "I'm glad to have run into you again."

He trundled away, looking rather relieved that she'd accepted his gift, and was immediately accosted by Arashi, who appeared to be speaking to him in hushed, stern tones.

Sakura sighed. "That is an unfortunate obstacle."

"That's a pretty nice plum, though."

"Fuck. _Off_."

Shikamaru chuckled. "On the bright side, you've gained someone's attention."

Sakura didn't think she could stand another person's attention. As it was, the whole samurai guard would be leering at her now—_Hosh's medic_, _medic-chan, ohayou!_ "Where?"

"Our target. Nine o'clock."

Sakura turned her head casually to the left, pretending to stretch it. In her peripheral vision was Matsuo, standing next to his caravan car, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders, looking directly at her covered head.

"Well." She breathed out and took a bite of the plum. It was pleasantly tart, the kind of sourness that made her mouth ache. "I'm sure our team saw _that_."

* * *

><p>Sakura dreamed that night.<p>

She was lying on her stomach in the clearing where Team Seven had together snagged three bells. Her eyes were open so she saw in clearest definition the blades of grass in front of her, how they bent like trees in a hurricane with her gentlest exhalations. The world seemed to exist in a haze, a golden-orangey glow; everything was tinged, everything moved a little slower. Her shoulders were bare and being kissed. Her torso was bare. She was naked. And being kissed.

_Naturally this is a dream._ She couldn't remember the last time she'd been kissed. Or kissed someone herself.

She lifted her head, but the person behind her only used the motion to part the hair that fell to the back of her neck and press his—her?—lips to the nape of her, then down her spine. The touch felt like thousands of glittering dandelion spores tumbling down her back. "What are you doing?" she asked—the words felt heavy in her mouth, like she was speaking around thick syrup, and just as sweet.

_Enjoying all of you_ was the answer, from a calm and deep voice that did not speak any words aloud. Definitely male. And familiar. But she felt no need to turn her head as large hands made their way from her shoulders to her hips. She felt no need to know as the skin of her back was dotted with light touches, fingertips skating over vertebrae and pressing into the muscle there. They plucked at the protruding angles of her hips like her bones might sing if only played the right way.

An unbearable and familiar ache warmed her stomach. She almost felt like crying. When was the last time she'd been touched like this? The air was warm but the hands were warmer. The grass was soft but the hair was softer.

_Sakura. Let me._

Let him what?

Let him what_ever_, said a small voice that she only distantly recognized as some softer, tamped-down vestige of Inner. She acquiesced.

The warm hands were attached to warm arms. They gathered around her waist and lifted her from the ground, nestled her into the broad chest of whoever. Her eyes were closed and she didn't feel like opening them. Bells jingled lightly in her ears. He was kissing her wrist and the inside of her forearm and her knuckles and the pad of her thumb.

_Don't open your eyes_, he said earnestly.

But he shouldn't have said it. As soon as he said it, she knew she needed to see. He was kissing her temple, her cheekbone, but she wanted to see the grass again. Brushstrokes in her veins set her blood to painting but she wanted to watch the world turn. She didn't even want to open her eyes. There was no reason to. But she wanted to see. Whoever—

Spots appeared behind her lids and her head split into three; gasping at the pain, her eyes ripped open—

There was Sasuke with her heart in his hand, his arm through her stomach—

Which lurched—

There was Naruto with blood at the corner of his mouth, holding Kakashi who was slumped oddly over his knees—

There was fire and dark water and the smell of charred wood, and Obito's shoulders under her hands, and he was saying her name, saying, "Sakura—"

There was a field of dead and dying shinobi in her colors, and Neji impaled on something much larger than himself, and Shikamaru with sunken cheeks, and Ino with tears and a crumpled face—

Sourness in her mouth, at the back of her teeth—

And Naruto and Sasuke going off to fight each other to the death again, leaving her asleep on a rock, again—

_**You will not forget it. You will never forget it. You cannot move beyond this.**_

The man who was holding her fell from her as she forced herself up, naked, running—

_**LISTEN TO ME. You need to—**_

Her eyelids unpeeled themselves. Awake. She was awake and stumbling towards the caravan car door, a hand over her mouth. Shikamaru was sitting up. "Sak—"

In one swift movement, the car door was open and her stomach was empty. A well-timed gust kept her noise from spreading—up ahead, Hosh's nighttime replacement walked without looking back. The samurai at the end wasn't looking at her, either, but was staring at the sky. Sakura hoped vaguely that he didn't step in her puke as the caravan trundled on.

_Not that it matters._ She knelt there a moment by the open door, taking in the desert at night. It was freakishly cold compared to the heat of the day and the air plucked at the hairs on her arms, but it was fresh, and it braced her.

"Tsukiko." It took her a moment to remember that this was her name. Shikamaru was sitting up on his pallet, one eyebrow up in his typical look of simultaneous consternation and concern. She raised an eyebrow of her own in saucy compensation, breathing deeply to pacify her rabbit-fast heart. Vomiting was quickly becoming a habit. If Sakura hadn't been so long devoid of meaningful human touch (_that dream!_) she would have suspected pregnancy. She turned away and spat; when she swiveled her head back, he was still watching her. She tasted another breath of sharp, cold air and rolled the door back into place. The silence of their caravan car was a web draped over their heads.

There was no point feigning motion sickness or food poisoning with Shikamaru, especially when he'd already seen her pass out and heard her speak in guttural tones during their previous mission. Which, by the way— "Did I say anything?" she asked on a whim.

He looked slightly alarmed that she was confronting this so directly. Good. Shikamaru should be surprised more often. "Um. No."

Her mouth felt dry and tasted awful. She took some water from her canteen, swirled it around, and swallowed down her own disgust. "I don't want to try and explain," she said in a plaintive voice that annoyed her the moment it came out of her mouth. "Can you just—"

His own voice was flat and deep, an undisturbed mountain lake. "What do you need?" he asked. She looked over at him; he was blank-faced again. Shikamaru, a serious stone. Relief and gratefulness surged up her neck.

"If I ever do—what I did in the mission—if I ever do that in public, or look like I'm about to, please disrupt it. Just—hit me or cut me or trip me or something—that's what _that_ was—it helps snap me out, I guess—"

"Basic nervous functions. Got it."

She moved to smooth her hair and her fingertips felt grit; there was sand in it. "What—"

"It moved," he said in a low voice. "When you got up, it was all around you, like a net. Or a shield."

Sakura blinked—after a moment, horror gripped her. "It's going to go back to Gaara. He'll be able to tell that I…"

Shikamaru was looking at her oddly again, clearly waiting: You… what? She clamped her lips together again for lack of a real answer. "I suspect he already knows," he said instead, and again Sakura felt warm relief seep into her skin. "The sand was protecting you while you slept."

_From Inner?_ From Shikamaru? "From what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. But I couldn't have touched you with it hanging there. It followed your movements until you woke up completely."

Her stomach still felt a little tenuous, but she swallowed again and closed her eyes. "He put me on this detail even when he _knew—_" She stopped and felt a shiver come unbidden. "Fine. Well. The sand will leave once we leave the country. And now you know."

"Now I know," Shikamaru agreed. "Sort of."

"About as much as I know, anyway." A little wry joke wouldn't go amiss.

Shikamaru didn't quite smile. "Can you… can you sleep?"

"Best to try." She crawled back to her own pallet. Sure enough, the sand was creeping back to its spot on her arm from its place in her hair and on her pallet. "Kota. Arigatou."

He was already lying back down, hands behind his head. Plotting. Looking at his slim-nosed profile Sakura felt, and promptly ignored, a strong urge to kiss him on the cheek. It was probably just an aftereffect of the dream, but she hadn't felt so desirous of touch in a long time. It wasn't the half-week of travel, at least—she'd gone on longer missions before. But something felt like it'd dropped out from underneath her—something in her stomach made her want to curl around another human, to come close enough to slip inside the skin.

She thought, unbidden and again, of Sasuke, and how his genjutsu after the fight against Kaguya had shown her the thing he'd known she'd truly feared: his absolute disdain for her life. His knowledge that he had her, all of her, and his rejection of all that she could give.

Sakura had replayed that moment many times after all was said and done, which was probably why it kept coming back to her over a year later. _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ and then—apparent—death. Her heart in his hands. If nothing else, the asshole had a talent for exploiting good symbolism.

She'd woken up from the genjutsu next to Kakashi-sensei, who'd regarded her with some surprise, which had in turn annoyed her more than she'd let on—hadn't she always been good with cancelling illusions? Didn't he know better at this point than to doubt her? Hadn't she just helped save the goddamn world?

Hadn't her two boys left her, _again_, while they went to clear up unfinished business?

She sighed. It wasn't the time to reminisce and be bitter. She lifted her arm and watched the sand twirl around its designated spot in the near-absolute dark of their car. None of these thoughts were new; rather, she'd harped on them since the war. Which made it all the more surprising that Inner had chosen now, of all times, in the middle of reconstruction and peace, when there was no direct threat lurking around and when her old team was whole and healthy, to rise up like a wave on the rocks and smack her around a bit. _It's been long enough. It's not even grieving. It's self-pity._

_**LISTEN TO ME,**_ Inner had yelled. But Sakura had woken up, thrown up, jolted herself out of the dream.

Sakura chanced a look to her right; Shikamaru's eyes were still open, and he was peering at the ceiling as if he could see the answers to the world hidden in the grain of its wood paneling. Probably he could. You couldn't turn around in Konoha without running into a genius.

There were people who'd lost so much more than she had.

"Shikamaru."

"Hn?"

She heard the rebuke in there for using his real name, but shrugged it off. "You've always paid attention to my team."

He paused in a careful sort of way before answering. "I pay attention to everything."

"No, you don't. You're selective and you're lazy. You know what's important, what to keep an eye on—and what you don't have to keep an eye on. What you can sleep through."

He rolled his eyes. "What are you asking?"

She exhaled. Her mouth still tasted a little like plums. "I don't know."

There was silence again for a moment, and then Shikamaru sighed and rolled over, away from her. She looked at his back as he said, very quietly: "It doesn't make a bit of statistical sense that all of our teams survived the war. All the hidden villages remarked on it: that Konoha kept a whole generation intact despite _all_ odds. But measures of war are always flawed. Ignore the casualty rates and measure other things: the rate of nightmares. Or the ubiquity of self-destructive behaviors amongst the surviving shinobi. Or the ways in which people change, even quietly, when they have nothing grand left to fight for anymore."

"When we fought, we were still developing—mentally, I mean," she thought out loud. "Frontal cortices don't stop growing and maturing until your twenties. Later in the twenties for men. And—"

"And?"

She bit her lip. "Trauma changes brain structure, sometimes," she said, with a horrifying little pit starting to swirl, Rasengan-like, in the core of her stomach.

Shikamaru sighed again, a welcome and normal sound. "Statistically, externally, your team is a miracle—made up of some of the village's most powerful shinobi. Connected by one loud idiot who influences everyone he meets. And fueled mostly by anger and guilt, at least until your Uchiha came back and the elders couldn't stand the idea of letting him rot. So internally, I'm not so sure you three escaped without your casualties."

Your Uchiha. _He's no one's Uchiha_, she thought with practiced bitterness that seemed, even in her own head, a little unnecessary. "There's six of us," she said after a moment. "Everybody forgets."

Shikamaru moved his head a little to cast a glance back at her. She was suddenly afraid that she was crying again, but her eyes were dry. "My apologies," he said softly. "You're part of the biggest, weirdest team in Konoha. And I watch it because its composition has proven to be unreasonably important to the village."

The thought gave her a perverse little surge of pride, even as the feeling of Sasuke's fist in her chest remained.

"And," he added, sounding reluctant as he turned his back to her again, "because we're friends, I guess."

Sakura felt herself flush. "Please. I might throw up again," she said, but her voice cracked.

He chuckled. "That was a pale attempt at stoicism."

"Yeah, well. It's never been a skill of mine." She swallowed twice. "I'm fine, and I'm sorry. I haven't—I mean—I haven't been a mess like this in a long—"

"Sakura, stop." Shikamaru spoke quietly but firmly; when she looked over again, he was leaning on his elbows. His hair fell to his collarbones. "You haven't jeopardized the mission and you're not about to. You are, however, jeopardizing my sleep schedule. So just—rest. Tomorrow we work on Matsuo. A week from now, we'll hopefully have figured this all out. And then we can figure out whatever's going on with you."

"Oh, _we_?"

He shrugged airily. "I _am_ a genius."

She kept her eyes on his back. Her mouth curved, against her will, into some semblance of a smile.

* * *

><p>Sai watched as Neji deactivated his Byakugan. The white-eyed jounin's face was well masked and blank to the average eye, but Sai had trained for occasions such as these. It was rather like hunting for shadows in a face to draw a good portrait, or selecting the best color to accurately represent the tones in someone's skin: there was some guilt, there some—what was the word Sakura had used? consternation— and there, a small smile?<p>

Sai offered one of his own. "Surely Matsuo of the Sand cannot elicit such a range of emotions from you, Hyuuga-san."

He watched as the younger man re-masked and frowned. "I don't think I know what you mean."

"I don't think you do." Sai settled back against the dune, wrapping his cloak more tightly around so as to ward off the chill. The nightly cold and daily heat were starting to—was it irritation? They were starting to irritate him. The constant fluctuation of extremes.

Neji seemed content to leave it at that, but Sai wondered. "Did you see our Hag?"

"Haruno? Yes, I checked in on them. They were fine. Talking."

He seemed to have decided his words rather carefully. Sai pressed on. "It is late for them to be awake. They will enact their trap on Matsuo tomorrow, correct?"

Neji gave him a look that, after careful consideration, Sai read as _'Yes, idiot, you know that. Why are you asking?'_ "I am asking," Sai answered, "because I am attempting some light small talk with you. I am interested in the well-being of our squadmates and of my teammate, the Hag." He paused—no reaction from his partner. Too bad. "It is good of you to check up on them when you have not been explicitly ordered to do so."

Neji grunted.

"I am sure the Hag would appreciate it if she knew. She appreciates what she calls 'watching the flock.'" He remembered how, months and months ago, she had explained to him that no, she did not mean by that that Sai was an animal, but she loved the sketch of him and Naruto and Kakashi and Yamato as sheep with her standing on a hill as shepherd, and she would put it up on her wall, and thank you, Sai. That had been before the war, or he might've added Uchiha Sasuke. Or, on second thought, he might not have.

Neji said nothing.

"I wonder if it is a waste of chakra and resources to check on them at night. They are undoubtedly able to take care of thems—"

The Hyuuga clansman glared at him then, a single, swift look that Sai read quite quickly, and Sai decided it was pertinent to stop talking. Except, just one last thing—

"You must be part of the flock," he reasoned aloud as Neji turned and pulled his hood up. "She healed you during the war, anyway. So you're repaying her."

Neji stiffened and was still for a long moment.

"It's not a debt to be repaid," he growled finally.

And then, when Sai decided to say nothing: "I'll take first watch."


	6. progression

A/N: [with MANGA SPOILERS] Okay, okay. So of course that ending was bittersweet, but again, this story goes from Kaguya's defeat and moves forward from there. I just want to have a little momentary rant about how everyone for some reason ended up with a romantic partner and spat out a kid, like, at the same time as everyone else? What? In the Naruto world, who even has _time_ for that kind of thing? And why is Sakura's kid named 'Salad,' and why does she wear glasses? And who the fuck styled Gaara's hair like a fifth-grade mom styles her son's hair before picture day in the 1970s? And why in the world are Ino and Sai a canon couple? And why does their kid look like _the walking dead?_

Okay. Okay. In all seriousness, this chapter is a little bit of a plodder, and my apologies for that. I might come back and revise it later, but there are good things coming up that need some exposition. So!

And P.S. to the new reviewers: THANK you. Grateful vibes your way.

* * *

><p><strong>six: progression<strong>

From the free side of her cell, Tsukiko looked a little worse for wear. Watching his sister scan the sleeping medic, Gaara noticed himself the circles under her eyes, which were closed tight in nervous dreaming, and that the blanket and clothing she'd been given to cover her nakedness were standard-issue and hung off her like so many rags. Temari frowned, and Gaara, seeing it, scowled. His sister had certainly seen prisoners in worse states, but he knew what she was thinking: that this medic had simply wandered into a wrong time, wrong place scenario. That she hadn't technically done anything wrong, particularly when Suna was not officially at war. And that politically, this all could turn out quite badly indeed. If the daimyo found out one of his personal medic staff had been detained, he would start asking questions, and the village would have to arm up sooner than they'd hoped or planned—either against the daimyo himself or against their own shinobi and civilian citizens, once the water stopped flowing.

When his sister turned around, her face severe, he dropped his scowl so she didn't see. Funny how he used to be able to elicit the same fear in her. He sort of missed those days. "What did you two do to her?" She was asking Gaara but looking at Kankurou.

The puppetmaster sighed like a father disappointed in the imprisoned medic's performance. "Not much, if you can believe it. One of the Konoha ANBU knocked her out and we transported her here straightaway, no fuss. I think the whole situation scared her enough to talk—I mean, Gaara showed up the first night and just _looked_ at her and I thought she was going to die on the spot."

Gaara folded his arms. "That's an over-exaggeration."

"Yeah, well, transport by puppet doesn't really soothe, either," Temari murmured. "You think you've gotten all you can?"

"She didn't know much," Kankurou said, scratching at the face paint on his cheek. "But yeah, I think so. Enough to confirm that our man the daimyo is into some bad shit."

Temari's frown deepened, and she motioned for Kankurou to come closer. "Shouldn't we discuss this in Gaara's office or something? No need to shout all of this out while we've got people inciting riots in the damn streets."

Gaara mutely shook his head, drawing the attention of both siblings. "This is the safest place to speak. No one is nearby."

"Alright, fine. What kind of 'bad shit,' then?"

"He owes the Land of Iron quite a bit of cash," Kankurou answered breezily. "He's been using their banks for a long time and accruing debt with interest, and it's only gotten worse since our war ended."

"Why? He didn't take much of an interest in our fight, as I recall." Temari couldn't keep the bitterness out of her tone. _Countrymen. Sure._

"On the contrary," Gaara said, working had to speak in slow, even tones. Such news had to be broken as calmly as possible or Temari would fly into a rage. "He invested quite heavily in the chances of our defeat."

"_What?"_

He heard himself sigh; another headache was coming on. "He poured the country's money into funds and investments based in Iron, apparently assuming that a neutral country would be the most sensible place to do business during a shinobi war. Unfortunately for him, our war was considerably shorter than he expected, and once the Hidden Villages returned to themselves as ostensibly friendly powers, the wartime markets he'd invested in crashed: private security firms and mercenaries, weapons manufacturers, providers of dry goods for civilian villages close to the front. They built up an incredible supply only to find that demand lasted about three days. Whole sectors of the economy, and those who invested in them, are losing money."

"But Gaara's leaving out the good part," Kankurou interrupted darkly. "Our daimyo _bet_ some of this money against the shinobi cause. Directly—not just in stocks and company investments. He gambled taxpayer funds away for his own _personal_ gain."

Gaara watched his sister's mouth open and close indignantly. He could almost hear her thoughts. _Amazing—the recklessness and disregard for the lives of not just Sunagakure but the whole country—and now he has the gall to cut off their village's water supply? Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. _"Bet with whom?" she asked at last. "And how—how did _she_ know all of this?"

"Matsuo of the Sand," Kankurou said. "Of course."

"Of course," she breathed.

"And Tsukiko over there knows because the daimyo has had her give him some kind of anti-anxiety medication every day following our victory. He's been cowering in his throne room for over a year, fending off his debt collectors in Iron after already having given our money to Matsuo of the Sand."

"We can't get that money back?" she asked. "By force?"

"It is, as far as we know, spent," Gaara said, and she looked like she could spit at him for foiling her plans. He realized that he was discussing the ruination of his country and his village with the tone of a schoolteacher. "Invested in his company. Put into bonds and stocks that we cannot touch."

"And the samurai?"

Yes, the samurai. Not quite mercenaries, not quite soldiers. They were problematic. "Here in Wind Country, we are not sure where their loyalties lie," he answered. "They were hired by the daimyo, but might function now as the Iron banks' loan sharks, reminding him of what he owes. Those caravanning with Matsuo of the Sand on the daimyo's command are most likely paid well, as Matsuo profited so highly from the daimyo's mistakes. But they will take orders from their home country in a time of conflict."

Temari let out a breath from between clenched teeth. "So the daimyo is weakened and cornered, a trapped animal. And, thankfully or not, all the Land of Iron wants is its money back. But we still don't know the motives of Matsuo of the Sand. Or the real reason for his trip to Lightning Country."

"And she knows nothing of either," Kankurou confirmed. "Believe me: we'd know if she did."

"So what _are_ his motives? Is this trade mission to Kumogakure a favor to the daimyo? Is he going to earn back our money through… through… I don't know." Temari's scowl was in danger of becoming etched into her face. "Nefarious means. Or whatever."

That was the operative question: Matsuo had all the cards here. The daimyo was exercising what meager power he had in order to keep his own hidden village ignorant of its unjust poverty; meanwhile, Matsuo had undertaken a journey to another country—to another country's _hidden village, _no less—with a bunch of agricultural goods. Gaara said nothing. Kankurou shrugged.

Temari put both hands in her hair. "Does Konoha know all this?"

Gaara nodded and bit his thumb in a rare gesture of concern before realizing he was doing it and re-folding his arms. "I have contacted the Hokage and sent a missive to the two undercover ANBU this morning. They are planning a mild disruption to come closer to Matsuo. But they will not remain in our country for very long, and I must call the sand back once they leave the desert in order to avoid suspicion."

Temari blinked. "You left your _sand?_"

He gave her his most Kazekage-like look, not failing to notice Kankurou mouthing a conspiratorial 'I _know_!' behind him. "Yes," he all but growled, "I did. I entrusted it to Haruno Sakura."

"Oh, well…" Temari was frowning in puzzlement, but appeared to shrug as she used to when he still held Shukaku, with a sort of _Gaara does as Gaara pleases_ attitude that he'd always rather enjoyed. "Okay. It's come to be useful?"

He frowned despite himself. "It has shown me very much." Much more than he'd been expecting, in fact, but he didn't want to share it with his siblings just yet. And in fact, he wanted to think on it a little before addressing it at all. "Temari, you have a meeting with the Elders coming up," he reminded her abruptly. "And Kankurou, I'd like you to find a place for Tsukiko to stay that isn't a prison cell. A safehouse with guards we can trust. She might be a prisoner, but she is in effect innocent."

He shot his sister a pointed look; she appeared pleased that he'd caught on to her worries about the status of their captured medic. "Hai, Kazekage-sama," they trilled with mock-salutes. He nodded to them, feeling weary with so much talk, and called his sand to transport him to his office; it swirled around him in a comfortingly familiar way until he felt solid, carpeted floor again.

He'd grown to like this office, full of light and devoid of unnecessary trappings: just a wooden desk that had seen a lot of wear and windows that showed him his village and beyond, into the liquid blue sky of the desert. He stood at the window, watching the dunes in their stillness, thinking.

He had to relay a message to the two undercover; the ANBU squad didn't have enough of a pattern on Matsuo to take a sure opening. Gaara knew this was normal for surveillance—good, thorough watching took time—and yet he was nervous. Time was the one thing he didn't have at his disposal. Once the caravan traveled outside of the desert, his sand would be obvious. He'd have to recall it and leave Sakura and Nara Shikamaru to keep up the act without direct contact with him. He'd have to wait and see what happened from Hatake Kakashi's every-other-day reports. And meanwhile, his village would shrivel and fester.

His patience was doubly frayed because of Haruno Sakura. He'd asked for her with regards to her intelligence, her medical skills, and because he trusted her to work well undercover. He'd been puzzled about the Hokage's reticence to send her to Suna until the day he'd met her ANBU squad at the oasis, when he'd seen something dark and familiar in her eyes. On a whim, he'd asked her to take some sand with her, and he still wasn't entirely sure why he'd done it. It did make for easier communication, but it was strictly against protocol to remove her from the chain of command of her squad, and he'd known it. If she'd been led by any other than Hatake Kakashi, the Hokage-elect, it probably wouldn't have been allowed.

His suspicions were confirmed by the reaction his sand had to her. Her messages came back with traceable surges of energy and chakra with a familiar taste: a tang of the dark, a hint of bitterness that he recognized all too well. Something was happening to her that reminded him irresistibly of his time as a jinchuuriki. He wondered if Naruto had noticed it, or if Tsunade had recognized it, or even if Sakura herself knew what was going on.

There was the thought, rattling around in his skull without any evidence to give it heft, that this wasn't new to her. She wasn't a jinchuuriki, _that_ he knew, but she was something else—something abnormal. Her eyes had always held fire—he remembered, through a blurry, bloodthirsty haze, how she'd stood up to him so many years ago with a single kunai, like a fool—but had they always held that shadow, as well? The shadow of some Other peering out from the inside? He didn't remember ever seeing it. But even if it wasn't new to Sakura, he realized suddenly, she would have never told Naruto. She'd always protected him fiercely.

Would it jeopardize the mission? She'd seemed frightened that it would, at first, but at the end of the day had stood tall, stared right back at him, and accepted the mission. She'd known that he could see whatever that shadow was lurking behind her eyes. No, she wouldn't let anything go wrong. And furthermore, the great strategist was with her. He, especially, would ensure it—if not the success of the mission, then at least their own survival. Gaara remembered Nara Shikamaru during the war. Everything sacrificed, everything put on the line, for his village and its people. It was a Hokage's behavior, even if the last thing on this planet that Nara Shikamaru wanted to do was become Hokage.

Gaara stood a moment longer and found that he'd made several decisions without realizing it.

"Ami," he called, and his door opened with a prompt "Kazekage-sama!" He didn't turn from the window. "Could you get a messenger hawk ready for me, please. And some tea."

"Hai, Kazekage-sama."

Gaara sat at his desk and pulled two blank scrolls from the drawer on his left. He owed the Hokage an update on the caravan's progress. And he owed Naruto—and Sakura—what help he could give them.

* * *

><p>By sunset, Sakura and Shikamaru still hadn't made a move on Matsuo. Neji had explained it to Kakashi, who'd been waiting all day with expectations for some kind of action. "I relayed all I saw of Matsuo back to the Kazekage to tell them, but it's only been three days. That's not nearly enough to establish a pattern. Knowing Nara—he won't move without knowing exactly when to strike."<p>

Kakashi had sighed silently. _A thorough job—what a pain in the ass._ But he was glad, after all, that Shikamaru was there, because Sakura would have had a much harder time of worming her way into the businessman's good graces without her partner's planning. Social niceties were important, but strategy was more so, and you can't strategize well with one half of your brain dedicated to keeping up an act. Shikamaru's silent presence as The Assistant enabled him to make some serious mental progress.

Shino's bugs had confirmed as much. "He has a plan. Energy died down. Kikaichu settled, waiting."

As they all were. Waiting for a move. Waiting for a breakthrough that would inevitably take far longer than he wanted it to. Waiting for a clear signal from the Hokage or the Kazekage.

And then they weren't waiting anymore.

"Rogue nin," Neji's voice issued sharply in his ear. "Seven of them. They're coming from the west. Six kilometers off and moving directly to intercept the caravan."

Shino perked up; Kakashi felt his legs tense in anticipation. "Where are you?"

"To the east. Moving parallel with the caravan. Should we intercept?"

Thoughts streamed through Kakashi's head with incredible speed. It was probably best to dispatch the rogues before they got to the caravan just as a matter of principle; he wasn't sure how his undercovers would fight effectively without their distinctive techniques. But, but, but.

"That's a large group for rogues," Sai remarked mildly in the transmitter.

Exactly. And what was the likelihood that the group was just going to happen upon a highly sensitive trade caravan pegged with samurai and Suna escort nin? "Do not engage," Kakashi said, with an urge to speak in professional code that was somewhat late in coming, "and I repeat, do not engage. We need constant eyes and a running commentary. Do not intervene in any circumstances; if our people are endangered, the two of us will go to them. But only if absolutely necessary." He glanced at Shino, who nodded. A mild buzzing increased in volume.

"Hai." Neji's voice was tense. "Four kilometers from the caravan."

"Moving fast," Shino remarked. Kakashi nodded. Oddly fast. _No one moves through the desert like that unless they have a reason to be somewhere. They're heading straight for the caravan._ And then: _They were sent._

"Two kilometers."

Kakashi waited. If the rogues were heading purposefully towards the caravan, they'd either been paid a lot or they weren't rogues at all. _Paid._ And with allegiances.

A small insect zipped towards them from the direction of the caravan, impossibly fast and buzzing urgently. Shino tucked it protectively into his sleeve, where its humming joined the others. "The kikaichu sensed them. Our two will have been given warning."

"One kilometer."

Kakashi gave Shino a sideways glance. "Would this warning have been intelligible to someone who wasn't well-versed in conversing with bugs?"

Shino gave him a sideways glance in turn that said (Kakashi thought), _Probably not._ Well, then. Sakura and Shikamaru would just have to improvise.

"They're on it." Neji spoke quickly. "And fast. Nothing subtle—brute force. On the caravan car with the Suna nin with a katon. They knew which one it was—targeted it specifically. Our two sensed them; they're moving towards the samurai at the rear. Samurai at the front are engaging with three rogues. Other four rogues are dispatching the Suna nin. Samurai coming up from behind." A pause. "Three Suna escort nin are down. Dead. One rogue decapitated by a samurai." Pause. "Two other Suna nin trying to run. They know they're targets." Pause. "Shot down by a rogue. Arrows."

Kakashi frowned. "Where is Matsuo?"

"In his caravan car. No—out of it. He has—he has knives." The Hyuuga's normally cool tone betrayed surprise. "From the kitchen. Cleavers. Wielding them well—one rogue stabbed in the gut. Dying. Two samurai are down. Not dead—wounded. Our two are under samurai protection. One samurai in particular—flailing with a sword." He sounded slightly disparaging of the effort. Kakashi guessed it was the samurai who'd had an eye for his student. _Chivalry. Great._ "Matsuo's fighting a rogue—and taichou, he's fast. Samurai decapitated another rogue. Two samurai aren't moving. Matsuo's going for another rogue."

Kakashi was stock-still, listening. _Matsuo fights. And well enough to disable rogue nin._ That was unusual.

"Last Suna nin is fighting. And—wait—"

"What happened?"

Neji's pause had him clenching his fists. "Hard to tell," Neji said slowly. "I thought I saw a samurai stab him, but—" He grunted, coming back to himself. "Anyway, he's dead. The whole escort is down. Another samurai down. Not dead. Rogue stabbed in the back by Matsuo. One, two, three rogue nin left standing—one is—" Neji's tone sharpened. "—heading for our two—there's another coming from behind, heading straight for—Haruno—" Sakura's name sounded like it'd forced its way out of his mouth.

_She can handle herself_, Kakashi thought fiercely. But something gnawed at him at the bottom of his throat. The dune behind which he and Shino waited rose like a monolith or a shrine.

After a moment, Neji actually laughed, a short chuckle that reminded Kakashi far too much of the Uchihas he'd known. "Two rogues taken out with a—with scalpels, I think. From her pocket. They're down. Throats cut. Last rogue disabled by Matsuo, beheaded by samurai." He stopped. "It's over. They have three dying rogues in custody and almost a dozen injured samurai. Sak—our Fox is healing him now, probably just enough for interrogation. Orders going out from the samurai captain. It's a mess over there."

The wheels turned. Kakashi exhaled. "Mm. You said a samurai stabbed the last Suna escort nin? Not a rogue?"

Neji seemed to speak carefully. "I can't be sure. I had my eyes everywhere at once. But I think so, yes. There weren't rogues close by them."

"I believe your eyes," Kakashi said. He stood, finally, letting the muscles in his calves relax. Shikamaru and Sakura hadn't blown their cover. And they had one more piece of information than they'd had before the raid. All in all, a pretty good result. "So the rogues were sent to kill the Suna escorts. And the samurai knew, and helped."

Sai's voice sounded completely unaffected by the sports-style commentary of battle. "Sent by Iron? They killed samurai, too. Iron blood."

"If the rogues had been sent by Iron, they'd have had to make it look like they weren't just targeting the escort nin," Neji said. "But it is odd strategy. They lost two samurai and there are at least ten wounded enough to need medical attention."

"And Matsuo is hurt?"

"Unless he's a complete fool," Neji answered dispassionately, "he'll ask for our Fox as soon as she's done with the rogues."

Kakashi sat back on his heels. After all the action the sun felt hotter than usual, as if battle had brought out the real heat of the day, even as the sun sank, faster and faster, behind the dunes. "The deaths of the two samurai don't make sense. Who are they trying to fool, unless they know they're being watched?"

"Sakura," Sai answered, as if it was that simple. "Tsukiko the medic. And her assistant. They were assigned by the daimyo, right? So they're the only ones who wouldn't have allegiances to Iron and Matsuo."

"Then why not kill them, too?" Neji said.

That was exactly Kakashi's worry: hadn't the rogues tried to kill them? Hadn't they gone straight for Sakura and Shikamaru during the scrum and ended up with scalpels in their necks? "When she goes to heal Matsuo," he ordered over the transmitter, "watch it closely. Watch everything. Try and read their lips. I don't want to wait for the Kazekage's message on this one, and they might be in danger."

"Copy, taichou."

"And when it's dark, send something scouting to watch our own backs," he added. "We will, too. They might know about us, as well, or at least suspect they're being watched."

Sai's voice. "Hai. I will send a bird once night falls."

"Stay far afield from the caravan."

"Of course, taichou."

Shino's buzzing had died down to a quiet hum, but Kakashi got the sense that his squadman wasn't content. Neither was he, to be honest. The raid had been a farce at best and a ploy at worst, a distraction from something bigger on the horizon. If the primary targets of the rogues—and whoever had sent them—was the Suna escort, did they know that Shikamaru's character was supposed to be Gaara's spy? Is that why they'd attacked the two medics? If they suspected Shikamaru and Sakura, why _didn't_ they just off them? And who, in the end, was pulling the strings? Matsuo from his caravan? The Land of Iron? The banks, the conglomerate, the daimyo?

Today wasn't the kind of day where he hid from Sakura. Today was the kind of day where he wanted to run to her with arms outstretched, ready for any weapons coming her way. His only genin team was finally whole again. It would be too ridiculous to lose a member to _corporate fucking intrigue_.

Still… "Dispatched 'em with scalpels," he muttered. Shino let out an amused 'hmm' and Kakashi let himself smile underneath the mask, where sweat had gathered during the day. The air was getting colder already. '_Atta girl._

* * *

><p>A curving bead of sweat fell from her hairline to her nose and caught on the veil, making it stick clammily to her cheek. Her knees ached on the sand. As soon as she finished slowing the rogue's heavy bleeding, Arashi the samurai captain hooked him under the arms and dragged him away, three other samurai following him with hands on their swords. <em>Interrogation<em>. But what would they even ask about? Sakura was suspicious; the samurai were professionals, but they had been too well prepared for an attack. And the selective slaughter of the Suna escort nin had been fairly obvious, despite even the two dead samurai who were even now leaking slowly into the sand. _This mission just got much more dangerous,_ she realized suddenly, and it was with a sudden pleasure; she needed a distraction. She needed something to focus on to get her out of her own head.

Hosh and two of Matsuo's assistants were building a fire to burn the bodies that had been beyond her help. Flickering orange light illuminated the several heads that littered the ground, one stuck upside-down midway up a dune. Sakura turned her head to see the face right-side-up. The man had died with a grimace. What a stupid trademark of the samurai: beheading. Medieval. Not like what she had done was any better, but when taijutsu isn't an option and an attacker is coming at you, you just grab the pointiest thing around and go straight back to the Academy days. Stab, stab, done. One of the things medical training did was teach you where the body was weakest.

She felt oddly calm now, undoubtedly a byproduct of the adrenaline that'd surged through her at the first scent of the burning caravan. Katon jutsu always made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Quick-thinking samurai had uncabled the Suna nins' car from the others, sparing the rest of the caravan from immediate destruction by engine explosion or fast-spreading flame.

The same perception-film that'd bothered her so much in Konoha had returned with this new wake of post-battle calm. Nothing seemed quite real, not the heads in the sand or the shouts of the samurai or the scent of blood and smoke that made the clean, sharp air of the desert almost insufferably heavy. This time, though, the film was welcome; it enabled her to grimace back at the lone head buried in the sand when she might otherwise have shuddered. It kept her from running to fully heal the dying rogue, who had obviously not expected to lose his life tonight against a trade caravan. _Someone paid them well and sent them to die._ Slightly cheered by her own ambivalence to this, she stuck her tongue out at the dead man's head.

"Medic. Are you going to do your job, or what?"

Sakura looked up with an unlabored certainty: as she'd expected, Matsuo stood above her, a gnarly slice running from elbow to wrist and a bruise pushing its way to the surface of the taut skin of his cheek.

Shikamaru, who she'd earlier asked to grab the medic's supplies from their car, trotted to them over the sand; he frowned at Matsuo and grabbed Sakura's elbow, bringing her back to her feet. Her senses cleared a little bit with his hard grasp. "Please excuse her, Matsuo-sama. She did just stab two attackers in the throat."

Matsuo looked a little surprised. "That was you, girl? I thought medic nin were supposed to stay out of the action."

Sakura gave him an easy, close-lipped smile, and reassured, Shikamaru's hold dropped from her arm. "All kunoichi are trained to defend themselves, medics or no. Gomen nasai, Matuso-sama. It's still been a while since I've had to fight and I guess it shocked me. Shall we take a look at your wounds?"

Her smile disarmed him a little. He blinked. "Yes. You can leave your assistant. He can help with the bodies."

"Sure. Kota, some bandages, please, and the preventative antidote." Shikamaru nodded, selected several items from her cart, and set off to assist the samurai piling the dead onto the makeshift pyre; he was good enough not even to look back. Sakura looked up at Matsuo. He was much taller than he'd looked from the other side of the campfire. "I need light," she said, taking his arm in her much-smaller hands. His forearm was warm and bright with firelight. "And water."

"I have both." Impossibly easy: he led her to his caravan car and slid the door open; his tray-carrying assistant from the day before was sitting in the corner. Sakura noticed that the assistant's hands were shaking. He stood and lit the three lanterns strung on the ceiling with those shaking hands.

She took a quick look around: Matsuo had a bigger, better-furnished room, with a desk by the door and firm tatami mats edged in good fabric. A mirror and set of suitcases and boxes lined the right-hand wall, along with a large bowl of clear water. Nice to have a personal supply when the rest of the caravan trudged in the blistering heat, she thought bitterly.

Remembering herself, she bowed shallowly. "Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. The cut on your arm will take a moment."

"My face first," he ordered, sitting straight on his mat.

_Vanity,_ she thought. _Good._ "As you say," she answered quietly, taking the bowl of water from the corner and grabbing another from the floor. She kneeled again and pressed a hand to his cheek, purposefully roughening her chakra a bit. No need to seem too skilled. Matsuo winced only slightly at the contact as Sakura massaged the swelling with chakra, repaired the broken blood vessels, and did her best to make the blood that had escaped dissipate. "You will still have some coloring," she said, "but only for a couple of days."

"You can't remove the color?"

She paused and, unable to help voicing a brief surge of irritation, looked him in the eye. "I assumed that I should save my chakra for the other injured."

He clucked his tongue. "Medic, I'm the one paying you. Get rid of the whole bruise."

"Hai." She spared a glance at the assistant in the corner as she resumed massaging Matsuo's cheek with chakra; the poor man was staring at the floor, obviously still shaken. Probably not paying that much attention. Good. She'd already gotten one piece of information: the daimyo wasn't paying her anymore. Matsuo was the money faucet. So why was he keeping the daimyo's personal medic? "What do you think that was all about?" she asked Matsuo shyly, removing her hand and dipping both in the water.

He hissed when she poured water over his wound. Diluted blood pooled into the empty bowl she'd placed under his arm, turning it pink under the lamplight. "Vagrants," he answered shortly.

Sakura frowned and pressed harder than she needed to on the tender flesh of his arm. He exhaled hard. "This will need sewing before I can knit the flesh with chakra."

"Then do it."

"It will hurt," she said unnecessarily, threading the needle as precisely as she chose her next words. "You were lucky to not have been more hurt, Matsuo-sama. I saw you run at them. It was brave."

He snorted, a sound that turned into a wheeze as she pierced his skin. "Luck has nothing to do with it," he said. "I handled them." She sensed him look down at the back of her head. "Although the samurai that was protecting _you _so thoroughly would have been more worthy of the money I paid if he'd come to me then."

Sakura let herself blush. "Hosh-san is... fervent."

"Mm." He sounded amused by her prudishness. _Also good. _"Apparently you didn't need his help, anyway. Slashed their throats like a true nin."

She made a few more stitches before answering, giving herself more time to think of the right thing to say. She didn't like that he might think of her as 'a true nin.' That implied that she was a threat to him. "It happened so quickly," she said, turning it into a confession. "I had to do _something._ They were coming right for Kota. And me."

"I wondered about that myself," Matsuo said. "They must have thought you would be easy targets."

_No,_ Sakura thought, _they were going _right _for Shikamaru, who was supposed to be a Suna nin so undercover that not even the other Suna escorts knew he was there. But the rogues knew. In which case Gaara's office is compromised._ "Normally, they wouldn't have been wrong," she said after a moment, and followed it with a nervous titter. "I surprised myself. It's anathema to kill in my profession when you can save instead."

She paused. Her breath hitched. Something had struck her. _The rogues only went for Suna nin. They killed samurai to make it look random, but the escorts were their true targets. If the samurai knew they were coming, did Matsuo know? Or was he just as surprised as we were?_

"You wouldn't have been able to save them, medic," Matsuo said seriously. "I would have killed them myself."

_If Matsuo knew they were coming, does he know that Shikamaru—Kota—is supposed to be a Suna nin, too? _If it was all true—if Matsuo knew about or ordered the strike, and if it was meant to take out those Suna nin that Gaara had assigned, and if Matsuo knew, too, that the real Kota had been a spy for Gaara, then Shikamaru was in danger. And so, by association, was she. Because what was keeping her allegiance to the daimyo, after all? _At least he knows the daimyo._ _If he suspects that I'm working with Gaara instead, Shikamaru and I will both have to blow our cover. They'll come after us. _Sakura slowly finished her stitching and glanced up at Matsuo again, a little surprised to find his eyes on hers. The caravan car was warm, but not unpleasantly so; she felt the heat on her cheeks and thought of the bodies burning outside. She was thankful to avoid the smell.

Time to gamble. Time to know. He held her look until she moved to wash the stitches again with water. She brought chakra to her hands, felt its warmth in her fingers and then its glow around them. "What do you think they were after? Money?"

He tensed under her invasive touch. She could feel his cells repairing. She coaxed the bleeding to a stop. "They were rogues, girl. They were probably after nothing but what they got: blood."

"The daimyo says that rogues don't kill for nothing," she muttered, as if to herself, and immediately stopped the flow of chakra to her hands when Matsuo reached up with his good arm to grab her own in a forceful grip. She was alarmed until he laughed—loudly. In her peripheral vision, his assistant looked up.

"The daimyo!" He looked like he would have slapped his knee if his hand hadn't been curled around her arm. His lips curled, not unpleasantly—he was handsome in the way that powerful men just _are,_ in spite of all she knew of them. "Your daimyo would have died back there in a _second_, whether you were with him or no. The man can barely count the change in his pockets. Can barely save his own _skin_ without help." He lightened his grip on her and the assistant looked down again, apparently used to his master's outbursts. "Can barely keep a pretty medic chaste when one of his big, strong samurai comes knocking."

Sakura made sure to widen her eyes.

"Oh Tsukiko-chan, even if I hadn't known, I would know," Matsuo purred. Black hair fell around his face as he pulled Sakura closer. "That samurai looks at you like you're his lost wife come back only to shack up with another man. I just wonder what you offer, anyway, under all of that white."

Sakura jerked her arm back, but he looked pleased at the reaction he'd elicited and laid back against the wall, smiling smug. Her skin was hot where he'd grasped her. "Matsuo-sama, I will heal you, but I will not listen to this," she said primly. "Believe me when I say that Hosh-san and I came together here by accident. The daimyo has nothing to do with my personal life. Will you let me do my job?"

He nodded, still smiling, and she bent over his arm again, her heart thumping in her ears. _So close. 'The man can barely count the change in his pockets. Can barely save his own skin without help. Can barely keep a pretty medic chaste…'_ "I suppose I shouldn't speak ill of your employer," Matsuo said cheerfully. Berating the daimyo seemed to have inestimably improved his mood. But Sakura wouldn't be fooled—he was still fishing. He was trying to find out where her loyalties lay.

Well. Why not reassure him? Sakura tongued her cheek as she finished with his arm. "I believe _you_ are my employer now," she said at last, kneeling back and examining her handiwork.

He peered at her, but she didn't look—he could have taken her comment in any way, and she hoped for a response that clued her in to the right one. But she couldn't press her luck any more, and so she began applying the mixture the real Tsukiko had in her stores. "It's a preventative antidote in case of infection or poison," she said, "but your wound had no evidence of poison anyway. Just a precaution." Patiently, she bandaged his arm up to the bicep. "Leave these for two days. I can take them off after and your wound should be completely healed. Then we can take out the stitches." Matsuo didn't seem inclined to answer her anymore. _Maybe I assumed too much._ But he didn't seem suspicious, so—

"Tsukiko-chan."

She looked up at him through the veil; his eyes were an unreadable mix. She got the sense that he was sizing her up. Finally he gestured to his assistant, who came quickly with a small, lacquered box in hand. This he presented to Sakura.

She looked at Matsuo with a quizzical brow. He nodded to her. "Think of it as a bonus for good work done on those two rogues," he said. "Think of it as a bonus from your new employer. And think of it as an incentive to ignore that samurai with the stupid beard."

Disbelieving, Sakura opened the box; inside was a heavy gold ring. How had she convinced him so fast? Was he stupid? Trusting? Or more calculating than she'd thought? "Matsuo-sama, this is unprecedented, I can't—"

He groaned. "Oh, don't. I insist." He flashed her a grin. "It's blood money. Every kunoichi should make some. Even medics. Now get out of here and go heal those others. But not too well—they failed, after all, when they should have been protecting me." The big man leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Damn samurai are _never_ worth the money."

Sakura bit her tongue so she didn't tell him she'd racked up more blood money in her life than she could ever pay back with healing. Instead, she bowed low, backed out of the caravan car, and ran to find Shikamaru among the dead and dying.

His voice followed her. "I should just buy myself some nin like you. Scalpel-wielders. Little things with quick reflexes."

* * *

><p>Neji had relayed it all to Kakashi: the complete healing of the bruise on Matsuo's cheek, Sakura's careful questioning, his smugness and Sakura's blush. He'd seen her say the name of the samurai who'd been staring at her and saw Matsuo laugh. Saw her pierce his skin and saw him hiss in pain; saw her small, discreet smile when she altered her chakra flow to make it harsher, rougher on the skin. He saw Matsuo grab her by the arm and laugh—<em>'The daimyo!'<em> he'd said, silently in Neji's view: _'Your daimyo … died back there in a second, whether … or … can barely count the change ... Can barely save his own skin without help… barely keep a pretty medic … when one of his … strong samurai ...'_ Sakura blushed again. Matsuo didn't let her go—pulled her forward. And when it was all over, a small black box was presented to her, with a large ring inside. _'Blood money,'_ he'd thought he saw Matsuo say. And Sakura had accepted it and backed out of the caravan. She'd walked quickly to Shikamaru, who was piling the last of the heads onto the fire, and said something in his ear with a tension in the lines of her face.

After twenty more minutes of conversation between the samurai captain and Matsuo, in which Sakura healed the worst injuries of the samurai, the caravan lurched into motion again. Dinner was delivered to every caravan car by a guard, and the remaining samurai ate on the go. No one wanted to delay, not tonight.

Neji reported all of this until Kakashi was satisfied. "So Matsuo thinks the daimyo is a loser—and it sounds like this trip is being taken as a favor for him. That's very interesting."

Sai frowned when he spoke. "The ring he gave, though. Is it not too soon for him to throw her gold? Does he suspect?"

"He does not," Shino said. "We listened. The kikaichu would know."

"He seems like the kind to throw gold when he wants to," Neji said, thinking of the way he'd pulled Sakura by the arm so that she'd almost fallen in his lap. Like he'd wanted, no doubt. A man with no honor and all the power in the world. "He wants to scare her enough to switch allegiances. To work for him directly instead of the daimyo."

Kakashi sighed. "A power play—to take something of the daimyo's and make it his. She'll make him think he succeeded."

"It corroborates what we learned from the Kazekage," said Sai. "The daimyo gave the country's money to Matsuo. The daimyo owes the Iron banks. Matsuo is working with the Iron samurai to ensure that the daimyo pays."

But why? Neji deactivated his Byakugan, zooming back into the world in front of him, where Sai sat with a scroll open, sketching in the moonlight. "Why do the daimyo a favor?" he asked into the transmitter. "If Matsuo already took his money and invested it or spent it, why bother helping now?"

"The daimyo has something on him," Shino asked in his questionless way.

"Or Matsuo thinks he can profit more from helping him," Kakashi said. "That's more likely. If the daimyo had anything on Matsuo, Matsuo would have killed Sakura on the spot. Instead, he's testing her, and whoever sent the rogues focused on the Suna nin. They're on Matsuo's side, and probably on the Iron banks', too."

"But the rogues died," Sai added.

"The rogues weren't expecting that, but whoever sent them probably was. The sole purpose of the rogues was to get rid of the Suna escorts. Bad news for the Kazekage's security."

"And worse news for our two," Neji said, for some reason unable to get the image of Matsuo pulling Sakura towards him out of his head. "If Matsuo was _expecting_ help to get rid of the Suna escorts, he might know that Kota was a Suna spy."

"And he might not," Kakashi said reasonably. "Whoever ordered the rogues knew, yes. But we don't know that Matsuo knows everything. And in fact I'm willing to bet that he doesn't, or Sakura wouldn't have that token."

"And the kikaichu would have scented his excitement or anger with her," Shino said tonelessly. "He showed arousal only once."

There was probably a better way out there to describe Matsuo's moment of glee over mocking the daimyo. Neji felt his mouth twist into a grimace at the word 'arousal.' "So we wait again."

"Yes," Kakashi said with a sigh. "We wait. No sleep tonight. Keep on the caravan until it stops again."

* * *

><p>Two largely uneventful days later, they were out of the desert.<p>

Gaara's sand had unwound itself from her arm the night that grass started appearing in earnest and the darkness lost its dry chill; it felt like trying to dislodge a phantom hair. The Kazekage's final message had quick and informative: Tsukiko was in hiding, Suna was in a barely-constrained uproar over water, and the daimyo was not answering any communications. "Be on guard," the sand-Gaara had warned. "Try to find an opportunity to search the cargo. Any opportunity. I'm hearing about plots to stage attacks in the Land of Fire as a bargaining tool—some radicals here think your country's daimyo will force the hand of ours. But your daimyo is just as likely to blame Konoha and cut your village off, as mine did. The sooner this is over, the better."

Easier said than done, Shikamaru had said once the sand finally dispersed. Curiously (or not curiously) since the rogue attack, Arashi and Matsuo hadn't ordered more security around the cargo cars, which should have been the most valuable and important places in the caravan. Instead, the samurai clustered to just the front and back of the caravan, with almost no protection at the sides: it was protection against attacks on themselves, not protection against attacks on the caravan cargo that they ostensibly were being paid to keep safe. Thankfully, this had sent the overeager Hosh far away; unfortunately, this meant that Shikamaru and Sakura had no cover for trying to check out the cargo cars.

"We'll have to wait to go through a security checkpoint somewhere," Shikamaru said with a sigh, hands behind his head as they traversed increasingly greener hills. "They'll have to unload it all and load it back up. There's a chance we could find something then. But the way they're treating it, it's probably only soy products after all."

Sakura was amazed at her partner's apparent lack of concern with their precarious position. Sure, if all else failed the two of them could fight their way out even against all the samurai and Matsuo combined; but the repercussions of mission failure seemed direr by the day. Money, international power, and desperation… stronger forces than those residing in her fist were marching across the valleys with them. Suna was on lockdown, and radicals were advocating for trips into their home country in order to force hands. Shikamaru had shaken his head when the sand-Gaara had said as much. "Believe me," he'd groused to her that night while she was unpinning her veil, "when it comes to our daimyo—that hand can't be forced."

Maybe Shikamaru was right to be unconcerned, though; nothing had happened to the caravan following the erstwhile rogue raid. Matsuo hadn't spoken to Sakura since her healing session, though she'd caught him looking at her with that same unpinnable look as before, and once he'd asked her where "my gift" was.

"It's in the car, Matsuo-sama," she'd answered, averting her eyes. "I didn't want to lose it on the road."

"Smart girl. Good morning, Kota-san."

Matsuo hadn't waited for Shikamaru's bow before walking away.

It was an odd, tense couple of days, and Sakura hadn't felt quite right since the raid. The film was still there, from the first step out of the caravan car in the morning to the moments before sleep took her at night. She waded through the day, barely speaking and barely even thinking—just walking, walking, foot after foot on the ground. It was less hot out of the desert and felt more like home; they'd passed quickly through the Land of Rivers and had passed into her own country, skirting the border. The caravan seemed intent on avoiding many security checkpoints.

Sakura was waiting for something to happen—not with the mission, but with herself. She could feel pressure building even as she was powerless to stop it; she could feel fear coming to the fore, like stomach acid slowly rising in her throat. Shikamaru sent her concerned glances at night, when she woke up with a start and reached for water, panting, swallowing down sickness she barely managed to avoid; she saw, even if he tried to conceal them. But she couldn't bring herself to address him or to care. She was just waiting. One foot in front of the other, waiting. One painful swallow of food to satisfy the stares of the caravan, waiting. One moment of looking out at night, as trees began to shelter the ANBU team that followed and preceded them, wondering if she could feel Kakashi-sensei from far away, if she could follow Neji's line of sight if she left her body to find it, if she could commune with Shino's friendly insects if she only stopped talking with _people_, if Sai could draw her portrait in a way that showed Inner sitting against the back of her skull, bouncing a ball back and forth, playing shogi with ghosts, helping Sasuke punch her heart right out of her chest, waiting for her to splinter and fray and fall like the hair she'd cut in a moment of rage and desperation in the Forest of Death so many, many years ago.


	7. fever, part one

A/N: Thanks so much to all the new reviewers! I promise I read and think on your criticism. Hopefully you see it reflected well here: two chapters for the price of one, and the end of an arc!

* * *

><p><strong>seven: fever, part I<strong>

Somewhere beyond the interlocking bare branches that shaded the caravan, a screeching hawk pierced through the rough caws of crows and the tittering of smaller forest birds. The sound grated on Shikamaru. He was starting to miss the eerie silence of the desert. The wild border forest of his home country was thronged with animals that enjoyed hearing their own voices. Where, he wondered desperately as the hawk screamed again, where gentle, _silent_ deer of his clan forest? Where was the calming, cleansing, soft-whispering wind?

And when would this goddamn mission _end_? Thanks to Neji's watchful eyes Shikamaru knew Matsuo's routine by heart now, but there was nothing to do about it until they had more evidence of some kind of wrongdoing. And evidence seemed to be slow in coming. They were now four days after the rogue raid and they hadn't crossed a single security checkpoint, meaning that he and Sakura hadn't had half a chance to investigate the cargo or the crew any more than their communal dinners allowed. Matsuo was staying shut up in his caravan car except to eat and to exercise, performing katas by himself in the early hours of the morning and walking for an hour or so after lunch. Communications from Gaara had been necessarily aborted and they hadn't heard shit from their squadmates up in the trees, who must surely be just as tired of this as he was—of this endless trudging, of inane conversation with exhaustingly stupid samurai, of waking up in the middle of the night to Sakura's gasping, hacking breaths.

Not that the rest of the team was subject to _that_, although by this point the Hyuuga had probably seen something of it—no, Sakura's nightmares were under his and her jurisdiction alone. Under her fierce, challenging glares, he didn't say anything when she woke up choking on her own spit; he would merely reach over to her pallet and put a hand somewhere in her vicinity, which she would squeeze in reassurance or ignore, depending, he supposed, on the draem. She hadn't vomited, at least, since the last time, so it seemed like she had it under enough control. As terrible as the visions might be, at least they cut his personal boredom. He was so exhausted with this mission that he'd been having trouble sleeping himself, which hadn't been a problem since Asuma's death.

Boredom on a mission like this was dangerous; boredom killed. But he couldn't help feeling shut-up and shut-in, and consequently shutting down. There was simply _nothing for him to do_. No new information to add to the complicated mental networks he'd made, remade, and reviewed. No new strategies to form. He was just waiting, waiting, and walking.

Now, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground, Shikamaru tried to be logical. They had to stop sometime soon—Matsuo wasn't one to be cooped up, either, and surely the caravan's supplies must be getting low enough to warrant a stop at the next town. Maybe, though traveling within it was by far the most efficient way to get to Lightning, the caravan wasn't keen on _stopping_ in Fire Country? Maybe they knew that the Hokage of their hidden village was corresponding with the Kazekage and wanted to stay as much out of Tsunade's hair as possible? _Wouldn't blame them._ The woman was terrifying at the best of times. But the Fire Country border was long, and they couldn't stay moving within it forever.

A third time for the damn hawk. His temples throbbed. He wanted a cigarette. _I will choke you with your own shadow._

Next to him, Sakura's shoulders stiffened, and he heard her breathe out an "oh!" Shoving his irritation to the back of his head for a moment, he turned to face her, brushing hair out of his eyes as he did so. It was becoming such a habit that he suspected he'd still do it with the return of his ponytail. Long hair was a drag. "What is it?"

She appeared to be suppressing a smile, and was looking up into the canopy. "Sai," she said. "I recognize the sound of that hawk."

"No wonder it's so annoying," he muttered. "I guess that means they have a message for us."

"About time, don't you think? I wonder—" She returned her eyes earthward and looked around at the groups of samurai clustered at the front and back of the caravan. "It's going to keep screeching if we don't get the message. D'you think you could keep an eye out if I pretend to need the bathroom?"

"That's a little crude," he said dryly. "Have you been taking lessons in espionage from Naruto?" Still, she looked pleased at a sign from a friend, and it'd been days since he'd seen her smile, and they needed to get the message somehow. He sighed and nodded. "No problem. Be quick."

"Good." She re-tucked her veil into the white headscarf. "And for all Naruto's faults, you know, sometimes the sophomoric is best. He did manage to pull his stupid pervert jutsu on the mother of all chakra…"

"What are gods and men," he quipped, "in the face of Uzumaki Naruto?"

She sighed. "Sadly, that's a valid question." She headed off to Arashi with her hands pressed together in a plea. Shikamaru heard her adopt a nervous, apologetic tone—"It'll be so quick, gomen, gomen, I really don't need a guard—" and heard Arashi grumble—"Well we're not stopping for you, medic, and if you die it's your own damn fault—" and then she was off into the trees, looking every bit like an embarrassed, anxious girl. A couple samurai joked and leered at her, but no one made a move to follow.

Shikamaru was vaguely impressed by her acting. She'd gotten better at playing the role of Tsukiko, using the medic's things and making good judgment as to her tendencies: he'd even once caught her looking at the picture of the girl's mother with a frown, as if trying to figure out why the woman in the photo would be of such importance. "I just feel like I'm getting to know her," she'd said when he'd asked. "Tsukiko. She's just another kunoichi who was treated like she had no talent and wound up acquiring none. She took a high-paying medic job to support her mother, had a fling with a samurai that ended in nothing, and then got captured by Gaara just so I could come and snatch up her life. I mean, at least _that_ warrants some sympathy."

He'd raised an eyebrow, about to ask if she'd ever considered becoming an actress, and she'd blushed and put the photograph down with a sort of sadness in her fingers that stopped him from opening his mouth. "Oh, don't," she'd said, punching him on the shoulder with a familiarity she usually reserved for her blonde teammate. "I'm not trying on a new life. It's not—escapism. I'm just—" She'd stopped. The fringe of her dyed hair hung over her face, hiding her eyes. She was still fingering the photograph. "I'm just thinking of the reasons people do what they do."

Shikamaru stood to; Sakura was returning from the forest, jogging to catch up with the caravan. She looked _good_—he caught himself immediately—what he meant was that she looked happy. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the cold autumn wind up above the canopy, and her veil was a little bit askew. A lock of dark hair had escaped from her scarf. When she reached him, she carried the sharp scent of trees and fresh sap with her. "Good news," she said.

"Looks like it. What did you do up there, get married?"

"I won't be nearly so pleased with marriage," she answered cheerfully. "No—Sai and Neji were up there, following from above. They say we're heading straight for a resort town on the border with the Land of Hot Water. Neji saw Matsuo signing a bill for an inn there, so he's probably going to take the hot springs for a night. They have an extensive security checkpoint—their clientele is all super wealthy—and will insist that all the cargo is taken from the caravan and placed in temporary storage somewhere within the town."

She was beaming, which made him slightly uncomfortable. Her daily dullness and nightly disturbances had become normal; now, seeing her smile generated an odd stomach-urge that made him want to smile, too. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from doing so. Troublesome. "That _is_ good news," he said instead. "I suppose the other piece of that good news is that they'll be waiting for us in the town?"

"I wish you wouldn't guess things before I tell them," she groused, "and don't take that as a compliment. Shino and Sai are going to patrol the town. Neji will have an eye on Matsuo. And Kakashi-sensei wants to join you when you look at the cargo."

"Which means we need a plan for getting to it in the first place without being seen," he mused. It was good to feel his gears turning again. "Yare, yare. I could have been assigned a taichou who didn't like to make things so complicated. And what's your role for this busy night?"

"Staying put," she said primly, with supreme effort put towards sounding okay with it, "while you macho men go do all the work. I go wherever the rest of the caravan goes, and keep your clone with me in case anyone peeks in."

"It might not be all that bad," he said reasonably, trying to keep his grin from spreading. "Hosh might take you to the hot springs. _Ouch._"

"You deserved that."

"Well, someone should take you," Shikamaru said, rubbing the rib she'd just bruised. "You need to take a breather."

As if in reply, she exhaled long and low. "Not yet, I think." The dullness that had accompanied them for the past four days flickered briefly over her eyes again, which he watched with a mild fascination. She was _suppressing_ herself. Calmly and quietly, like cloaking chakra. She'd been tempering her rages and frustrations, and her pleasures, too.

"Kota, you're staring." And he was—staring in mild disbelief at the way her eyes had changed in tone and color. His hand was still massaging the rib upon which Sakura had exacted her revenge. So he looked away and stuck his hands in his pockets again and fell behind her a couple of steps, returning to his subservient assistant's position. Internally he considered her steps, working her out. Sakura was intentionally blocking herself off, whether subconsciously or with full knowledge it wasn't clear. She had apparently deemed it the best way to avoid any further attacks of the sort that had sent her vomiting underneath the caravan and down on her knees on that mission weeks ago, where she'd growled at him in an otherworldly tone to '_let me go_.' He was almost impressed with her masking ability. She was another Sai. Danzou would have loved her. He shuddered.

"You're _still_ staring. I can feel it, which means they can see it." To which he didn't have an answer. So he dropped his eyes, frowned, and kept in silent pace behind her. Shikamaru didn't know what was happening to his teammate, and if she didn't seem to feel like explaining it—so be it. But if he was sure of one thing, it was that keeping it all buttoned and bottled was not sustainable. Not for her. Knowing Sakura, she would at some point explode. He could only watch for it, get out of its way, and try to keep their work intact when it did.

She gave him the silent treatment after that, probably as punishment for his obvious concern. It didn't much bother him—now that he had something to focus on, even the racket of the birds above wasn't bothersome. He ordered his thoughts to the rhythm of their steps. _They'll move the cargo inside the town. The kikaichu can follow them. I'll make a clone to stay with Sakura and meet Kakashi-taichou at night. _And then several courses of action presented themselves. _If the cargo is sensitive, we inform the Hokage and wait for permission to move on Matsuo and the samurai. If the cargo is innocent, we'll have to work harder on getting Matsuo to talk. Or—_and this was the worst case he could possibly imagine after a week of drudgery—_we stick with the caravan all the way to Kumogakure. Get into closed meetings between Matsuo and the __Raikage__. Have Sakura pry Hosh for information on the way there. And then—_and then walk all the way back to Wind Country. He could weep.

Three hours later, as dusk was approaching and the crisp fall cold had effectively seeped through Shikamaru's cloak, they reached the impressive metal gates of the town. Resort towns had always puzzled him: how is a place so singly devoted to people who only pass through? The idea of a town based entirely on pleasing foreigners seemed implicitly stupid. But then, maybe a town based entirely on raising fantastic killers wasn't much smarter.

_I should have abdicated the clan and become a civilian,_ he thought absently, watching Matsuo step down from his caravan car with the usual smooth swagger to meet the guards at the gate, who looked more like hotel staff than police. Matsuo exchanged words with the guards and Arashi, who ordered samurai to begin unloading the cargo cars. Matsuo barked something to his assistants, who immediately scurried to assist. Shikamaru heard a brief hum and caught one of Shino's sly little spies weaving towards the exposed boxes. He looked to his left and saw Sakura's satisfied smile; so she'd seen it, too. All was according to plan.

But no—of course it wasn't. Shikamaru noticed with some feelings of ill premonition that Matsuo was making his way towards the two of them now, wrapping himself in a heavy and expensive-looking traveling cloak. His hair, normally pulled back in a ponytail, was loose and hanging around his jaw like strips of black silk. Out of his caravan car and ordering people around had put him in his element; the rich man radiated confidence and power, as rich men will do. The forest floor seemed to bend under his feet. Shikamaru hated him, suddenly, with a feeling like he'd taken too big a gulp of hot tea. It burned his chest.

"Tsukiko-chan, my medic-in-waiting," the big man said. "You've been remiss in your duties. I never came to you to have the stitches removed."

Sakura flicked her veiled eyes up to him. He was a head and a half taller than her, but Shikamaru could tell that she was purposefully slouching so as to emphasize the difference. She was a smart actress and a woman who knew many powerful men; she knew what they assumed, what they took for granted. He felt a grudging respect for that kind of observance. "I didn't presume to come to you first, Matsuo-sama," she answered, "and I wasn't about to underestimate you. I assumed you'd know when they needed removal."

He grinned at this, rather wolfishly. Shikamaru, not having been addressed, felt free to focus his attention on the cargo. The samurai were loading crates onto a horse-driven truck on the other side of the gates; the guards were checking inside one of them, pulling out items wrapped in paper. "The time has come," Matsuo was saying. "I don't want to enjoy these wonderful springs tonight with twine in my arm."

"I'm happy to assist. Would you like me to remove them now?" Sakura's voice was pleasant. Maybe this was why she put on the dull act: to conserve her energy for smiling in the face of this insufferable jackass. Shikamaru peered into the space between Matsuo's arm and his body. The guards didn't appear to find anything wrong with the contents of the box; they'd begun repacking it.

Matsuo waved his arm in a dismissive way, distracting Shikamaru into looking at him again. "No, no, later on. I'd like to get cleaned up first. And I assume you'd like some rest after so many days of walking."

"I'm not about to complain about sore feet, Matsuo-sama," she answered with dignity. Shikamaru surreptitiously watched the guards check another box. Still nothing suspicious. But maybe they weren't looking properly…? It wasn't impossible that Matsuo would have bribed them. Resort towns often hosted the seedy and the slick.

"No, you wouldn't." Matsuo's tone had changed—gotten softer. Shikamaru glanced back without moving his head; the man had shifted his posture, too, and was leaning closer to his teammate.

Sakura seemed conscious of this, too. She was biting her lip. Shikamaru wished she wouldn't. "So." She glanced absently at the trees. "Where are you staying, then, Matsuo-sama? I can come to the resort after we've both rested."

He chuckled, a dark sound. "I'm staying where _you're_ staying, Tsukiko-chan. The resort on the hill. They have a beautiful onsen with purportedly wonderful healing qualities. I assumed a medic would appreciate it more than I."

Shikamaru whipped his head around with such violence that his neck cracked; eyes watering, he blinked at the crooked _M _made by Sakura's legs leaning back and Matsuo's stepping forward. Sakura's mouth was open slightly underneath the veil. Matsuo's eyes were unassuming, but his lips curled in a smile. "I, um, I'm sure I would—" Sakura began, but Matsuo cut her off with another chuckle.

"How _did_ that samurai get you in his bed, Tsukiko-chan? You're dense. Consider this an employee directive: stay in the resort. I've already paid for your room. You can come to the waters and finish healing me there, and take them yourself if you're so inclined."

Sakura blinked. "Not dense, Matsuo-sama, only principled. Your generosity is appreciated, but I—"

"Didn't we already go through this with the ring?" Matsuo said gently. "I don't want to tell you twice. You're here to provide medical services. I'm merely telling you where to provide them." He leaned back, finally, but Sakura remained on the defensive, one foot behind the other, as if ready to run. "My assistant will come find you when I'm ready. Bring your supplies—unfortunately, I neglected to reserve a space for Kota-san." He gave Shikamaru an off-handed nod and walked blessedly away, where Shikamaru could not reach him to stab him in the throat. Which was sort of Sakura's M.O., anyway.

Shikamaru swallowed the bad taste their target had left in his mouth and looked at Sakura instead; she was laughing gently and his scowl. "Well. There go your best-laid plans, I suspect."

"I always have backups," he said, which was true. He'd still need to leave a clone in whatever shoddy excuse of a bed he'd been assigned, but his meet with Kakashi, at least, could go on as planned. Hyuuga Neji would be watching Matsuo already, so Sakura would have backup no matter what. The question was, why was Matsuo inviting her in the first place? "He either suspects you or he's smitten with you. Neither," he added, "leaves you in a very safe position tonight."

Sakura shrugged a single shoulder. The caravan was fully unloaded now, and two of Matsuo's staff were closing up the cars. The samurai were moving into their formal lines now to hear orders from Arashi and enter the village. "I'll get what I can from him, regardless," she said, and though her voice was calm he saw her lips twist in a little grimace.

"Tsukiko-san! Kota-san!"

It was Hosh, of course, striding to them in the official samurai gait: straight legs, shoulders thrown back. "I have been instructed to inform _you_," he said to Shikamaru, "that you will be staying at the Five Stars All-Quality Inn with the samurai. It is on the eastern end of the village. We will be heading there straightaway."

Shikamaru sighed. Inns with more than three words in their name always seemed to have moldy walls and seedy bars.

Hosh continued, his professionalism faltering when he turned to face Sakura. "I have been instructed—well, no I haven't been instructed _as such_—I mean—" The samurai looked seriously displeased. Shikamaru raised his eyebrow pointedly in case Hosh looked his way, but of course the samurai's eyes stayed on Sakura. "I think you should be careful, Tsukiko-san."

"Be careful?" she reprised.

Hosh finally sent a glance at Shikamaru; he looked almost panicky. "Look, Tsukiko, I know we haven't—we never spent much time together. And that we probably won't, ever. Not again. But Matsuo-sama—he's a powerful guy, and I don't want you to think that—that just _gifts_—" He paused again. "He's dangerous, that's all I'm trying to say. He knows you're the daimyo's medic and he wants to keep you close. He's told all the samurai that we're to keep an eye on you. So you can put your loyalties wherever you want, but I just want you to… to know."

Sakura was either speechless or playing the part very well. Shikamaru couldn't think of much to say, himself. But after another quick glance his way and a nervous smile at the woman he thought was his once-lover, Hosh turned around and marched himself back to his captain.

After a moment, Sakura turned to look at Shikamaru. Her face was a picture of disbelief. "I'll do a henge for the ANBU tattoo and my seal," she said, gesturing at her forehead. "If Matsuo wants me in his bath, or his room, I've got to do it. There's something we don't know that we obviously should. By why Hosh thought he had to warn me especially…"

"Tch." He wondered about that, himself. What was Hosh worried about? He was getting paid by Matsuo, anyway. "He might still feel loyalty to the daimyo," Shikamaru mused quietly. "I'll think on it. But…" The samurai had begun moving out. He supposed he should follow them. Matsuo's assistants looked to be waiting for Sakura to get a move on. "Well, seduce you or kill you—Matsuo'll try one, at least, tonight. You have eyes on you if you need help, don't forget." He felt like he should say something more…positive. More optimistic. "I'll find you tomorrow morning." That wasn't really it, was it? But that was all he had. The samurai were moving out and the sky was growing darker. Shikamaru spared Sakura a nod and followed the samurai through the gate, his eyes on the helmets in front of him. Just what he wanted: a night in the company of the Great Unwashed.

He looked back, just once, just to make sure. Sakura was getting supplies out from their caravan car and talking amiably with one of Matsuo's assistants. She looked totally at ease in stance and smile. But her eyes were still all wrong.

_Trou-ble-some. Trou-ble-some._ The birds were laughing at him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Watch.<strong>_

Sakura opened her eyes and saw broken ground. Rubble and dirt under her knees—she was on her knees? She tried to stand and immediately stopped with one foot on the ground, balancing still on the other knee; her muscles were strings tuned too tightly, ready to snap and ruin the chord. She couldn't stand fully. Dimly, she heard someone panting; it took a moment for her to realize that she was the one out of breath. She looked to her left and to her right and saw nothing. No one was around her. She wondered briefly if she'd created all this destruction—it wasn't impossible, not with a couple well-placed punches into the fault lines of the earth. Absently she rubbed some dirt between her fingers. It didn't feel quite real—

Suddenly, she knew where she was. A glance at her right arm confirmed it; the sleeve was torn off. An unfamiliar lightness at the top of her head told her that her hitai-ate was missing. _I'm at the end of the battle with Kaguya._ She surveyed the surroundings again: still, no one was around. If memory served, Sasuke and Naruto should be in front of her, arguing over who would be Hokage. Kakashi should be behind her, weakened.

_**Watch.**_

Inner. Sakura looked around a third time, but of course this was in vain—she hadn't actually seen Inner since her reappearance. "Okay," she muttered. She wasn't feeling sick yet, at least. "Am I dreaming?"

_**You'd better damn well hope so.**_

Sakura grudgingly acknowledged the truth of this.

Suddenly, in her peripheral vision, a figure appeared—she turned her head and couldn't help gasping. "Obito!"

He doddered towards her like the living dead, but he wasn't the shellacked creature who'd helped transport her to other worlds; he was Obito as he should've been, an Uchiha through and through: dark hair, well-deep black eyes, Sasuke-brand smirk. Able to ignore the pain in her legs at last, she ran to him, but he put out a hand to stop her before she could touch him. "Sakura, I'm sorry."

No that—that was Sasuke's voice. She felt herself take a step back. "Obito?" But it wasn't Obito anymore. It was Uchiha Madara: wild eyes, wild hair, monster.

"I'm sorry for everything."

Sasuke's voice coming out of that mouth. She pressed her lips together in a line. "I don't want his apologies from you."

_**Watch!**_

Kakashi was behind her, limping. "Don't be angry with them, Sakura," her sensei said gravely, hooking an arm around her shoulders. "The last Uchiha."

"There were a lot of last Uchihas," she snarled.

Kakshi didn't let go. "You're stuck."

_**You're stuck.**_

"You're stuck." Sasuke's voice coming out of the right mouth now, at least. She stared at him. He was whole and undamaged, twelve again, petulant mouth and scowling eyes. "Ne, Sakura. You're so…"

"…annoying," he said, but it was Shikamaru who was saying it now, and rolling his eyes. Sakura squeezed hers shut.

_**Watch.**_

"I don't want to," she said, and already she could feel the bile well in her throat at her rejection of Inner's vision. Kakashi's arm moved from her shoulders to her waist and she jumped forward, alarmed and eyes fluttering open despite herself, but the arms held fast—it wasn't Kakashi behind her anymore after all, it was Hyuuga Neji holding her so tightly, her captain, and there was blood coming from the corner of his mouth. He was smiling softly, like he had been when he was sure—when everyone was sure—that he was dying a worthy death, a hero's death. She stared at his head on her shoulder, stared at his hair matted in blood. "I don't want to watch this," she said again, shaking her head and pushing him off—he fell like rocks, right on his face, which was now Sai's face, complete with close-eyed smile. "I don't want to and I shouldn't have to. This is all over."

"Sa-ku-ra-chan,"groaned the voice of her golden boy, and she shut her eyes against whatever possible image of bleeding, dying Naruto she might be confronted with. _Not that. Not him._

"Tsukiko-san!"

There was a humming in her ears: Shino's bugs. "Good," she said as her stomach lurched, "good, eat me up, take my chakra—" What was she saying? "Good, I don't want to _see_ this, I don't want it."

"Tsukiko-san!" That wasn't her name, who was calling her that? A rumbling sounded off somewhere in the distance.

"You're stuck," it was Sasuke again, his voice deeper and closer this time, and she knew what was coming, _Fine,_ she thought, _let's get this over with,_ and she opened her eyes just in time to see his impassive eyes boring into hers, just in time to feel him shove his hand up through her before she could exhale properly to deal with it, just in time to open up her eyes in the real world, in the resort room in the Land of Hot Water, and bolt up from the bed where she'd promised herself only a twenty-minute nap, and run to the door like it was a last resort.

She took a moment before sliding it open; swallowed once, twice, three times to keep her stomach at bay and to reassure herself that she was in the right place. It was the same room she'd fallen asleep in, with a futon made of dark wood taking up most of the space and pleasant paintings of waterfalls and happy onsen-goers flanking the side tables.

Matsuo's shaky-handed assistant looked pleased when she opened the door. "Good! Matsuo-sama is ready for you now."

"Of course," she answered, surprised at how level her voice sounded. "I have my things right here—just a moment." She gathered them quickly: scissors, ointment, extra bandages just in case, all stuffed in a cloth satchel and slung over her shoulder. She hadn't had time to set her henge in place, but surely Matsuo wouldn't ask her to actually strip in front of him? She wouldn't have to feign primness for that.

The dream had shaken her up. She forced herself to take a deep breath and just _perform._ Tsukiko was an orderly, prudish, goal-oriented medic with a romantic streak. She went to the highest bidder out of love for her family. A textbook character on the surface with tension roiling on the inside. _That's me._ Okay.

Sakura gave Matsuo's assistant one of her best smiles and slid the door shut behind her. "Let's go, then."

The assistant led her down the hallway of rooms and took a left at the main entrance, following the signs for the outdoor onsen. When he slid the door open to the outside Sakura's skin puckered; it was a frigid fall night, and she wished she'd brought a sweater. Apparently Matsuo was already enjoying the water. _Bet they kept it open for him._

Indeed, while other resort-goers appeared to be finishing their baths, Matsuo luxuriated in a separate pool, cordoned off from the others by an aesthetically-planted line of grasses. It was a beautiful set of pools; the resort was obviously very expensive. There were no families here, only elegant-looking men and women in pristine white towels. The heat from the water coiled above the surface in steam, shrouding the laughing bathers in fine mist. The effect was somewhat creepy, like walking through a ghost town. A bathhouse for the spirits.

Matsuo smiled a guileless smile at her, which immediately put her on guard. He had his injured arm out of the water, at least. "Tsukiko-chan, you came to the baths in your full regalia?"

"I came to remove your stitches," she reminded him, kneeling by his head. She rummaged for her supplies in the cloth bag, making a distinct effort not to look in the water. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, but she didn't quite trust him to keep it there. "This is pretty unhygienic, by the way," she couldn't help but add. "I assume you had to pay a pretty penny to get a pool all to yourself."

"If you come to this place worrying about losing a little extra, you're thinking about it all wrong," he said, quite relaxed as she began snipping the threads on his arm. "What's a couple ryo more, once you've already spent so much?"

"I suppose that's only natural if you have so much to get rid of," she answered, pulling the threads slowly. They came away easily. He was almost completely healed; a quick session with her hands and his arm wouldn't even be marked anymore. "We who scrimp rather than spend might go for discount luxuries."

He chuckled at that. "Discount luxury isn't luxury at all. Keep doing good work like this and you won't have to scrimp much longer." She didn't answer, but in her peripheral vision she saw Matsuo wave his assistant away. After a moment, when she was three-quarters of the way through with his sutures, he leaned closer to her. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to, Tsukiko-chan. I know what you want out of all this."

She didn't raise her eyes, but quirked her lips in a silent question mark.

"Status. Money. Security. Isn't it what we all want from life? Safety in our own skins? Eh?"

"Is that why you gave me the ring? Because you're worried about my financial security?"

He sighed, annoyed, and made a fist, flexing his forearm so her eyes, which were fixed on her work, would see his displeasure. "You obtuse girl. I'm giving you an out here. Your daimyo isn't going to be able to provide a salary for you much longer."

She flicked her eyes up at him, finally. He wasn't even looking at her; he was looking at the sky. Sakura licked her lips. "Why not? He's the daimyo. He rules my country."

"In name," Matsuo allowed. "But you know he's got financial troubles of his own, don't you, medic-chan? You give him his daily dose of tranquilizer when it all becomes too much for his little old head. And you know that it's money, not titles, that confer power. You're a smart girl. You know who holds the reins here."

Sakura considered her options. He was saying a lot, but none of it was news. Sakura realized that she had to play him into talking outside of Tsukiko's realm of experience: she had to find out about the samurai, about their destination, about his business. _He's being direct with me; I'll be direct with him._ She was getting a better sense of him through this than she had from Neji's reports, which had described a calculating, disciplined man with a vain streak and a tendency for overthinking. All that was true, but Matsuo also seemed _lonely._ On the road, he was out of his element. This was a guy who liked the cat-and-mouse power-plays of business and politics; a cunning strategist of people and place who enjoyed a good mental tussle. On this front, he wasn't unlike some shinobi she knew. The thing she couldn't understand was his focus on _her_, but that seemed secondary to digging out a complete picture of his decision to go on caravan to Lightning.

"Matsuo-sama, with all due respect, I don't know why we're having this conversation," Sakura said at last, as she took the last threads from pliant flesh. "If you're asking whether I will work for you for a higher salary than the daimyo can pay, the answer is yes, and you know that. If you're asking if I'll spy for you, I don't understand why—you already know everything I could tell you. So…"

"So?" He seemed to be enjoying her verbalized logic.

"So, what?" Chakra flared at her fingertips. "This might twinge."

"Twinge away." She leaned over his arms, tracing the ripple and pucker of his wound with her fingertips, watching with some pride as the scar tissue diminished, paled, and disappeared. It took her a moment to realize that he was twirling an errant lock of her hair around his big-knuckled finger. "The fact is, little medic-chan, you intrigue me far more than your dossier led me to believe you would." He paused and licked his lips. The motion of it unnerved her. "Why don't you run back and get a towel when you're finished? You can come join me in the bath here."

She hesitated. He saw. "Completely platonic bathing," Matsuo said, smiling wide. "You make good conversation, and I'm tired of obsequious assistants and rough mercenary samurai. If it makes you feel safer, you can bring a scalpel."

She finished with his arm and sat back. Her arms vibrated with residual chakra and maybe, if she'd admit it, with nerves. "No scarring," she told him. "You heal well."

"No, _you_ heal well. Go on. I'll wait."

She had no choice, really.

Walking briskly back to her room, Sakura tried to divide and re-collect her thoughts, Shikamaru-style. If he made a move on her, would she let him? Would Tsukiko let him? No, Tsukiko would not. She wouldn't give in to slick charms and the promise of more gold rings. She would keep her distance. If it was conversation Matsuo wanted, it was conversation he would get.

How best to turn the conversation to the samurai, the Land of Lightning, or the cargo? _So, Matsuo-sama, what's so great about soy products, anyway? So, Matsuo-sama, I hear we're going to a hidden village. Are they in dire need of nutrition? Matsuo-sama, what the fuck is in the boxes?_

In the safety of her room she performed a quick henge. It was a relief to take off the veil and headdress and bandages. Looking in the mirror, she saw another woman: one with dark, wind-tangled hair, with flushed cheeks and Ino's blue eyes, just in case Matsuo had noticed their lightness from underneath the veil. No seal to reveal her Strength of a Hundred. No tattoo to display her loyalties to her leader and her village. No sign, really, of kunoichihood. She tried a smile. It worked.

Without ceremony, she stripped, wrapped the towel tightly around her chest, drew a robe around it for good measure, and stepped back out into the night.

_Why did the daimyo assign me to you? He must know you're after his power, _might be a good question to start with. From there they could go into the dangers of travel, and from there into the need for the samurai, and etc. That was natural and practical conversation. That would be her first question.

Her sandaled feet slapped the ground, but none of the other bathers appeared to notice her passing. Their soft laughter mingled with the softer mist; the candles set around the pools set both to a kind of warmth that Sakura wondered if one could only buy. No wars and no worries. Her dreams could be put far behind her if she only sank deep enough into the life of the wealthy civilian elite.

Matsuo was in the same spot of the pool, admiring his unmarked arm. When Sakura approached, he grinned. It wasn't a wholly unpleasant effect. "Medic-chan, all unwrapped! You have beautiful eyes. Come into the water."

She did so, taking off her sandals in a line and folding the bathrobe as she thought the orderly Tsukiko might do. The first step into the hot water made a blossoming warmth run up her spine—the cold air on her face and the heat on her foot made her feel almost fizzy. Sakura kept her towel closed tight as she entered up to her shoulders, but she couldn't keep a sigh from escaping her lips. When she looked up, Matsuo was looking at her still. She ducked her head. "Matuo-sama, I was wondering—"

"No, _I_ was wondering." With a surge of movement she chided herself for not expecting, he was in front of her, quite close, nearly pinning her to the wall. Sakura had a crazy moment of wondering if his towel was still secure. But he wasn't looking at her with happiness or desire; he was radiating some other kind of energy. Something cruel.

_Well, shit. _All of a sudden she thought of her oft-taichou Neji, watching from somewhere above. It gave her little comfort to know he was seeing her trapped between a wall and their target's pectorals.

"I was wondering," Matsuo continued quietly, "why your assistant wasn't in his room, and why _this_ moron was." He gesticulated roughly to his left, and when Sakura looked she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

It was Hosh. Helmet off, armor removed, held by Arashi. The captain of the samurai guard had a dagger placed precariously at Hosh's neck, but Hosh was still trying his damndest to shake his head at her, his eyes wide and scared. Sakura ran through a list of possible answers, but the only good one was the true one. "I don't know," she said breathlessly. "Matsuo-sama, really—"

"I was also wondering," he interrupted her, "why, when I went through your medical supplies before this caravan even began, I found explosive-testing kits."

Again, this was news. Sakura widened her eyes. "What?"

Matsuo narrowed his eyes at her and, if it was possible, pressed closer; she kept her hand fisted at the front of her towel. "I'm currently wondering if you've been working with this idiot the whole damn time."

Hosh made a wild, desperate sound; Arashi bent his arms back in response, and Sakura looked back and forth at them, flabbergasted. "Matsuo-sama, I swear I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

The businessman's eyes were dark and thunderous as he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into them. Sakura began amassing chakra in her fist. He looked at her for a long time, Hosh's grunts sounding pathetically from behind them both. Then, with another violent motion, he pushed himself back to his side of the pool. He was smirking. "Drop that towel, medic."

"I'm—what?" _Of all the fucking things._

"I'm not asking," he said, rolling his 's' in a sibilant way that reminded her too much of Orochimaru. Except Orochimaru could have dismembered Matsuo of the Sand without half trying. "Do it, or Arashi will drown you."

Sure, Arashi looked like he'd have no problem with that. Sakura knew without a sliver of doubt that she could take them both, but there was still a chance she could save this—that she could keep (or gain) Matsuo's trust. He might be testing her. She'd obviously misjudged him. He was cunning, and he was lonely, but he was _insane._ And explosive—he'd found and taken explosive-testing kits—so that meant—

_The cargo._

Sakura willed her face to stay in a mask of frightened disbelief as she stood in the pool and began peeling off the soaked towel. Thinking again of the supposedly-present Neji, her face burned. _The cargo is made of explosives. He suspects Hosh. He suspects me. What are they doing taking explosives to a hidden village?_ When she was naked in front of them all—the gods, Matsuo, Hosh, Arashi, Hyuuga Neji—she quickly threw it on the ground and sank back into the pool. "Matsuo-sama, I really don't know—"

"You're not—that's not—"

She wheeled around in the water; Hosh had been staring at her body. His eyes shot upwards and met her new blue ones; his mouth gaped. Sakura knew as surely as she'd known anything in her life that Hosh had just finally realized that she wasn't the girl he'd loved that one drunken night back in Wind Country.

Arashi shook him. "That's not _what, _fool? That's not what?"

Hosh just kept staring at her, as if trying to align his thoughts. Sakura stared back, not pleading or communicating at all but just waiting, chakra in her fist, for Hosh to bring her story crashing down around her.

The samurai blinked. "That's not true," he said quietly, never taking his eyes from Sakura's. "Tsukiko has nothing to do with it. The daimyo told me to put the explosives tests in her supplies so that she'd be suspected. Then I could go on as planned and activate them early and blow you sky-high. He wants you dead," Hosh added unnecessarily to Matsuo, never straying from Sakura's eyes, "to get back his money. He talked with your investors about it. She had nothing to do with it. He just didn't care enough if she—if you lived or died." Hosh looked apologetic, nauseous, scared. "I planted the tests—I didn't know you were _you—"_

Sakura stared at him. And kept staring at him even as Matsuo sighed and said, "I think that's about all the use we're going to get from him." And kept staring even as Arashi pulled the dagger across Hosh's throat with practiced precision, in a straight line, so that blood, warm but not as warm as the water, splattered on Sakura's naked chest, on her face, sank into the beautiful pool in which she stood.

And then, with a crash-bang and a strong tug from somewhere outside of her, she was under the water, and everything collapsed.


	8. fever, part two

**eight: fever, part II**

Shikamaru was sitting on his bed with the heels of his hands supporting the weight of his head, staring at the floor.

Hosh had been really, fully panicked. '_He's dangerous, that's all I'm trying to say. He knows you're the daimyo's medic and he wants to keep you close._'

Okay, fine. The daimyo's medic, given on the daimyo's orders to service Matsuo and the caravan as they marched through a territory increasingly populated by rogues. The daimyo, who'd invested badly, who'd lost his money to Matsuo and whose hold on the country and power was becoming less and less sure as the Kazekage got more and more suspicious and the civilians got closer to realize how precisely their country government had fucked them over. The daimyo had given Matsuo his samurai guard and his medic. For what purpose? He had no leverage.

'_He's told all the samurai that we're to keep an eye on you. So you can put your loyalties wherever you want, but I just want you to… to know._'

So Matsuo controlled the samurai, as the daimyo must have guessed he would. The samurai who had helped kill the Suna escort nin, to the benefit of whom? And Matsuo had told the samurai to keep an 'eye' on the medic. Was it because Kota had been a Suna spy? Were they after him and not Sakura?

No, Hosh had been warning her, specifically. Out of misplaced love? Out of fear of retribution?

A knock at the door startled him out of the reverie. Shikamaru lifted his head from his hands and waited, but whoever was behind the door didn't identify himself. It didn't feel like a shinobi, anyway, although there was some chakra signature. Shikamaru untangled himself from his thinking stance. It had to be a samurai. "Come in."

The door slid open and Hosh let himself into the room, immediately closing the door behind him.

Shikamaru took him in: he was sweating, nervous as before. He'd taken his armor off but his sword was still strapped to his waist. "Hosh-san, what can I help you with?"

The samurai didn't answer at first, but kept his hand clutched tightly around the hilt of his sword. Shikamaru tracked his shadow. "It's Tsukiko."

"Shocking." Shikamaru regretted the sarcasm when Hosh looked up in surprise. "Sorry. What's the matter?"

"Matsuo's going to kill her."

He said it so blankly, and with such certainty, that Shikamaru blinked in surprise. "Why are you so sure?"

Hosh exhaled through lips pursed into an 'o.' "He suspects her. Both of you. To be saboteurs."

Was it really going to be this easy? "Saboteurs of what, his trade deal with Kumogakure?"

Hosh was on him in a second with a chakra-laced sword pointed at Shikamaru's throat. Of _course_ it wasn't going to be that easy. "Forget it," he snarled. "I'll protect her myself. I'll kill you and I'll get her out before he kills both of us."

"_That _won't attract suspicion." Shikamaru sighed and slowly raised his palms in the universal gesture of surrender. Hosh didn't seem realize that Shikamaru had his shadow wrapped around his ankles, but it didn't matter—the samurai hadn't taken that last step necessary to swing at Shikamaru's neck. The guy was a trained killer and from the looks of it no one in the caravan would care if 'Kota' died, so what was he waiting for? "Calm yourself down, Hosh. Tell me what's going on and we might both be able to help her."

Hosh's face was set, and his sword didn't waver or shake in his hands. Shikamaru had to give him some credit for that. "He thinks Tsukiko is going to kill him."

"Why?"

The samurai's eyes were thunderous, and for a moment Shikamaru thought he was going to strike at him again. "The daimyo wanted me to set her up."

_Light dawns._ "Which you did?"

"I didn't know it was her. I thought it was one of the other medics—I didn't even realize until I saw her at night on the first day of traveling—"

In a hostage situation, particularly one in which he was the hostage, Shikamaru was inclined to listen, not speak, but Hosh looked like he was about to burst a vein in his temple. He needed a push or he'd just lop off Shikamaru's head and be done with it. "So… so what did you do? How can we help her?"

Hosh's eyes flicked up to meet Shikamaru's again. "Testing kit for explosives. I put them in the medic supply cart before she even looked at it. Arashi-sama searched for it and took it to him."

"You're still loyal to the daimyo, then?"

Hosh snarled, animalistic. "I was at first. I'm loyal to my captain. Arashi-sama surprised all of us, going to Matsuo. He told us there'd be better pay, so no one complained. And by then I'd already…"

Shikamaru tried for his best soothing voice. "It's okay." He sounded dubious even to his own ears. It _would_ be okay; Sakura wouldn't let herself get killed by someone like Matsuo, and even if she was at a disadvantage, Neji was around to intervene. But they were close to bringing this whole mission down. "Explosives. The cargo's full of explosives?"

Hosh nodded. "Sealed. Matsuo and Arashi and I are the only ones who can unseal it. Only Matsuo and Arashi don't know that I can. How are we going to help her? She's probably with him right now."

_Did Arashi tel the other samurai? Why didn't the daimyo foresee that the samurai would switch sides? _So Hosh had betrayed the daimyo by following his captain, and had betrayed his captain by spilling his guts to Shikamaru, who they probably still suspected as a Suna spy. And the girl he thought he loved was under threat because of something he'd done under orders from a man he no longer worked for. No wonder the guy was frustrated. _But why did the daimyo have such trust in Hosh to carry out the plan? _"We'll get to her shortly, I promise. I just want to understand what we're up against here. So the daimyo wanted Matsuo to die en route and he didn't care if his samurai and his medic died, as well. What was the original plan for the samurai, then, before Arashi had you all switch sides? What did the daimyo and Matsuo plan to do? When were the explosives going to be detonated?"

"I—" Hosh looked up again with a strange expression. The tip of his sword pressed uncomfortably into Shikamaru's neck. "You're not a fucking _assistant_."

And right then, the worst possible moment, someone banged on the door. "Kota-san!"

_Arashi._

"Arashi-sama," Hosh breathed.

Time slowed. Shikamaru closed his eyes.

Arashi was coming in to kill or otherwise harm him—this he was sure of, given Hosh's semi-confession. There were five most likely scenarios.

Arashi comes in and Hosh, panicking, slices off Shikamaru's head preemptively, before Shikamaru can give away his treachery. End of Shikamaru. Sakura is left to Matsuo's tender mercies. ANBU redoubles and mission is probably still completed. Konoha is safe.

Arashi comes in and Hosh, panicking, slices off Shikamaru's head preemptively, before Shikamaru can give away his treachery. End of Shikamaru. Sakura is left to Matsuo's tender mercies. No one figures out the caravan is holding explosives, the caravan explodes at the gate of Kumogakure, the Raikage suspects the Wind Country of terrorism, Suna is still choked by debt, Konoha comes to its aid, war. Konoha is not safe.

Arashi comes in and Hosh is dead and Shikamaru remains, pledging his allegiance to Arashi. Nope. Arashi doesn't need an ally. He would try and kill Shikamaru just in case.

Arashi comes in and Hosh is dead and Shikamaru is gone. Arashi goes straight to Sakura, who is forced to defend herself, ANBU swoops in, forces the mission to a close without answers, sends Matsuo to interrogation. Messy and impractical. Konoha is safe.

Arashi comes in and Hosh is alive and Shikamaru is gone. Hosh is interrogated and not believed, Shikamaru can go check on the cargo with Kakashi as planned and tell Neji to watch Sakura closely, Sakura continues working on Matsuo, mission continues to the gates of Kumogakure, possibly with answers. Konoha is safe. Mission is complete.

And option six? Shikamaru opened his eyes. _The gates of Kumogakure._ "Sorry," he said.

Hosh blinked. "No—!"

"Kota-SAN!" Arashi shoved the door open. Hosh lunged forward. And Shikamaru's substitution jutsu left Arashi staring at one of his soldiers stabbing his sword into a fluffy white towel.

* * *

><p>Neji watched the scene below with increasing frustration and came to the conclusion that this was the problem with ANBU's policy of revolving captaincy: when you put a frequent captain in a subordinate position, he begins to second-guess his taichou's decisions. He begins to resent being a log in the fire rather than its spark. He begins to get <em>antsy.<em>

Perched nigh-invisibly on the roof of the resort's laundry facility, he had a clear shot even without his bloodline at what was becoming either a striptease or a serious problem. The affectionate samurai was being held at dagger-point and Sakura had just been ordered, inanely, to take off her towel. Anger rose in him, hot and oily, as she threw the wet cloth on the ground by the pool. She was keeping her eyes on Hosh, who looked panicky. Matsuo was angry but unconcerned, which probably meant that someone was about to die. Best not to mince words. "Taichou, the situation here is intensifying," he said into the transmitter. "Rapidly."

A moment passed before Kakashi answered, his voice wry and alive with tension. "Yeah, over here, too. Is the samurai there?"

"Yes," Neji answered, frowning because _how did he know?_ "It looks like Matsuo and the samurai captain are interrogating him. Matsuo is going to make a move soon. It will either be Fox or that samurai in his crosshairs."

"Hold, for the moment. Stag and I—" Kakashi broke off for another moment, as if conferring with someone off-line. "Let us know when Matsuo acts."

Neji watched Hosh sputter something. A confession? Arashi's grip and Matsuo's brow both contracted as he spoke. Sakura was merely staring, apparently still hoping to keep a handle on whatever kind of mess into which this was devolving.

Sai spoke up from outside the town. "Did the kikaichu lead you to the cargo?"

Kakashi sighed. "_Oh,_ yes." Another pause. "In a storehouse on the other side of town. They're explosives. To cut a very long story very short. And we're going to set them off when Matsuo acts against Sakura or Hosh to corral the samurai. The blast radius is large enough to make a statement, but no one in the baths should be directly hurt. You three," he rattled on, ignoring the silent disbelief projected over the wire, "are in charge of making sure that no samurai leave the resort and that all civilians are protected and healed."

"An explanation?" Shino asked, his tone exasperated.

Neji was about to ask for the same thing. But there, just there, was the beginning of a movement in the samurai captain's arm, and a tightening of the muscles in the wrist. _He's going to cut his throat._ "He's cutting the samurai's throat—"

"Ten-four. Watch your own heads. Incapacitate any samurai trying to leave the town."

Neji saw the knife pierce flesh, saw the skin bend and rip, saw blood—and then Arashi was holding nothing but empty air. He looked about as shocked as Neji felt. _A shadow clone?_ Samurai weren't capable of that kind of chakra-molding.

Matsuo looked livid, and Sakura looked pale and sick; her eyes were dark.

With the sound of a thousand trees falling at once, the explosives did what they were made to—Neji felt the rush of hot air before he saw the cloud, several kilometers behind him, and the debris falling and fluttering over the pools. Shrieks emitted from the few remaining civilians in the pools, who fled with splashes and the slap of wet feet on wood, forgetting shoes and sake in their dash to safety. Neji batted away some fast-falling debris and noticed Matsuo was shouting—"You _stupid, stupid_ woman, you really fucked up—"

The big man grabbed Sakura's wrists and threw her under the water, where he held her rigidly, hands around her neck, drowning her.

Neji felt himself tense and turned his Byakugan on them immediately. He saw Matsuo pressing down hard—his thumbs making indentations in the front of Sakura's neck, and the muscles in his arms grew with pressure exerted. Why in the world wasn't she moving, fighting back? Sakura had to realize she couldn't be undercover anymore. Neji spared a quick glance backwards and saw civilians surging forward, covering their heads, but no samurai—and then refocused on Sakura.

She was… what was she doing? Her chakra spiked dramatically in power; he saw it flare and spin around her head.

And then she grabbed Matsuo's wrists.

_Finally._ With the efficiency of movement characteristic of her medical practice and her force, she snapped Matsuo's wrists underwater. The man yowled in pain and Neji took his chance before the samurai captain could act in his aid—he leapt from the roof to behind Arashi and quickly closed tenketsu points at his wrists, hands, and back. The captain looked around wildly for the source of the rapidfire hits and Neji, happy to oblige, delivered several more to his neck.

As the samurai captain slumped to the ground and his dagger likewise clattered, Sakura's voice, oddly dark, sounded from behind him. _**"You had no right."**_

Neji wheeled around, putting his hands aloft with the intention of helping her, but stopped: she was completely fine, it seemed, standing waist-deep in the water and clenching her fists. Matsuo was truly angry now, but his face was marred with grimaces of pain; he stood tall against the woman upon whose neck his thumb's bruises bloomed. "Fucking _nin_," he seethed, looking at the masked Neji standing above him on solid ground and backing away slightly with the air of one who knows he's done, "Konoha special ops, _damn_ it. You could have been on the winning side—"

"_**You had NO RIGHT to kill him,"**_ and she said it like a curse, and then, spastically, _**"Let me GO!"**_ Neji felt his skin prickle. There was something off about this, something wrong. Through Byakugan he saw Sakura's chakra spiral and condense into something like a shadow, an outline of her form that grew in size and intensity until it covered her whole body in a brilliant, vibrant white. He kept his hands raised. _What the hell is this?_

"Didn't you see, you bitch kunoichi, he's not dead—"

Sakura let out an animalistic growl and swiped Arashi's dagger with a clenched, angry hand. Neji felt a shudder of ill intent. Naked and stalking through the water, his teammate resembled an angry goddess, a river spirit made _severely_ displeased.

"Taichou," he muttered into his transmitter, "are we collecting the target alive or dead?" Sakura appeared to take no notice of his words. She was out of this world and in her own. _I've never seen her like this before_, he thought, not even at her most furious and indignant, not even in more frenzied battles than this.

"Alive" was Kakashi's short answer, over a fuzz of static interference. When Sakura reeled back with the dagger in hand, Neji wasted no time—he stepped into the pool between Matsuo and Sakura and quickly disabled the corporate champion in the same way as he'd done the samurai captain. When he faced Sakura again, Matsuo over his shoulder, she was on him in a rush and a sluicing of water, the knife at his throat.

"_**I CAN—PROTECT—MYSELF," **_she roared at him. Neji felt her chakra, warm against him. It stunned, stunned him so much that he could only put one hand limply at her elbow to try and keep her at bay while he held the bulky Matsuo with his other arm. Here was Sakura, naked, pressed flush up against him with a knife pressed to a very important vein, and her eyes were shaded, and her chakra was going mad— _**"I will not look at your BACKS."**_

Neji felt—for a moment—nervous? He tightened his grip on her elbow and deactivated his bloodline—there was no need when he could _feel_ where her energy was coming from. "Haruno, snap out of it," he ordered tersely.

She let out a strange noise instead—a sort of dry sob, a gasp with a hiccup in it—and the pressure of the knife eased a little bit. Her eyes closed tightly. _**"Let me GO."**_

Neji realized that the moment of ease was a sign, or at least an opportunity, and he took it; with little ceremony, he struck the same place on the neck that he had on Matsuo and Arashi, and she slumped against him similarly, the weirdness in her eyes fading away.

She fell against him with a grimace, dagger forgotten in the clear, warm water. It glittered at the floor of the pool like a hard, sharp, ill-wishing talisman. She'd hate him for this later. But she might not even remember… _She didn't see that it was a shadow clone—_But Hosh had vanished before Matsuo had pushed her underwater. Was she hallucinating? _Matsuo must have done something to her._ Sakura began sliding into the water and with little grace he grabbed her around the waist, ignoring her nakedness for the moment. Too late he realized that he should report back to Kakashi. "Target acquired, along with the samurai captain." he said finally into the transmitter. "Fox knocked out. And I didn't see any samurai."

"Yeah," said Kakashi lazily, and Neji turned around in the water to see his captain, unmistakable despite the mask with that shock of silver hair, standing on the roof Neji had recently vacated himself. Shikamaru and the ardent Hosh were next to him, and Shikamaru had a frown on his face that Neji couldn't quite read. From behind him, angry shouts and an ominous hum preceded the arrival of Sai and Shino with a foul-mouthed gaggle of samurai.

"Would you mind," his captain continued dryly, "covering up your teammate? And then we can get down to business." He sighed symptomatically, looking at the nerve-wracked samurai to his left. "We have a lot to cover."

* * *

><p>Kakashi decided to relocate the squad and the samurai team outside the village, ordering Neji to take Sakura into the trees to wake up while they dealt with the samurai. It wouldn't do for the resort to find evidence of ANBU beyond hearsay; even for the peaceniks of the Land of Hot Water, the combustion of an economically-important tourist attraction read like outright aggression. Better that they think it was an accident—or pretend that it was in the interest of keeping good business with the wealthy of Wind Country.<p>

Now, though, he felt a little bit like he was herding cats, though the samurai kneeling in front of him were docile enough for now under their prideful leader's example. Upon awaking Arashi had taken stock: he'd looked around to see Matsuo slumped on the ground next to him, his regiment in a line behind him, and a line of masked Konoha ANBU in front, and had tactfully bowed, addressing Shino, who was in a leaderlike position at the head of their squad, as "ANBU-sama." _Trust samurai,_ Kakashi thought, unamused. _Consummate survivors._ Then his gaze rounded on Hosh, who was kneeling, too, in his life of samurai, but not joining in the snarls and rebellious scowls of his fellows.

In this case, Shino's oddness and gruffness were wielded as an exceptional tool of interrogation. When he spoke, the samurai captain listened with a wary look. "The cargo," he said only, and a wavering _bzz-ZZZ-zz_ backed him ominously.

Arashi twisted his lips. "Explosives, obviously."

Sai stepped forward, a move that made him loom curiously larger. Arashi saw the threat for what it was and spat a mixture of blood and saliva, not without dignity, before continuing. "Our original orders were to accompany the caravan to Kumogakure for safety. We didn't know what was on board. Turns out the Wind daimyo wanted the explosives to go off at the gates of Kumogakure—wanted their shinobi to target his country and Suna, wanted it to all go to hell. He had Matsuo-sama's agreement at first, as I understand it."

"But then Matsuo offered you more money than the daimyo had," Shikamaru said from behind his mask, "and you conferred with your home government, and they told you to go along with his plan to get to Kumogakure and acquire the Raikage's trust by telling him about the plot."

"If you know," Arashi snarled, "why are you asking?"

"Confirming," Kakashi said, making his tone as dark as possible. He could see Arashi's position: following orders from the homeland, no matter how convoluted and stupid, and falling down as a scapegoat and sacrifice when the time called for it. _Your own fault for being good enough to become a captain._ "Why did the daimyo trust Matsuo to follow through with the original plan?"

Arashi shrugged with a touch of insolence. "I am not privy to those conversations."

His team exchanged glances; they were still missing something. The daimyo had been after shinobi anarchy again, something to distract from his crumbling regime, but why in the world would he have thought that Matsuo would have kept to the accord after the businessman had already shown him no monetary mercy?

Next to him, Shikamaru sighed. "Hosh." The samurai looked up, startled to hear his name in a conversation between elites. "If I had to guess, the daimyo ordered you to set it all off prematurely, just to kill Matsuo. And he trusted you to do it because _he_ knew who he was sending as his medic, even if you didn't."

Hosh neither confirmed nor denied it, but the way he dropped his head was telling. Arashi looked like he could gladly strangle his subordinate. Kakashi shifted his weight, thinking. "Aah, conflicting resolve," he said on an exhale. He squatted down in front of Hosh, dangling his hands in between his knees. "So you had orders from the daimyo, who'd employed you for years, telling you to blow up the caravan. And you had orders from your captain and your home country to follow Matsuo and _not_ blow up the caravan. And you'd already set up the girl you loved under orders from the first boss, and not the second, which made you want to blow up the caravan prematurely and kill Matsuo _any_way to save her. Principled men lead tough lives."

Hosh said nothing, but looked up. Kakashi could see the anger in his eyes, the willingness to blurt out, 'But she's _not_ the girl I love!' But he didn't say a thing. Kakashi peered at him through his mask and whispered, softly enough so that no one else could hear, "And you protected her anyway. Or at least the clone we made for you did. So you're not such a bad guy." He leaned back again. "Just dumb. The principled ones usually are."

"The rogues," Shino reminded them all, turning back to Arashi, who'd been watching the interaction between his samurai and a Konoha ANBU with a distasteful look on his face. Kakashi had a sudden realization: _No matter what happens here, Hosh dies. _Samurai didn't cope with insubordination—they _dealt_ with it.

Arashi shrugged again. "We knew they were coming to help dispatch the spies from Suna, but we don't know who sent them."

"It wasn't your government?" Sai asked skeptically.

"I don't rank high up enough to know," Arashi said, obviously exasperated, "much like you, I'm a tool of the state. So what is your plan for us? Are we talking ourselves into death? Because you might as well get on with it, if so. But if not, it's a long walk home."

Kakashi chuckled. "Are you so eager to die?" Arashi said nothing, a sentiment with which Kakashi empathized: _it doesn't matter much, one way or the other. I was prepared to die when I accepted the sword._ True. "I'll tell you what, Arashi-san. Why don't you go home. Konoha has to desire to enter into conflict with the Land of Iron, no matter how tenuous its commitment to neutrality seems to be these days. Tell your bosses that we'll be keeping a sharp eye out. Tell them that the next time they want to encourage anarchy between hidden villages for money, the shinobi of all nations, recently banded together as we are, will be more than happy to relieve them of any use for it."

Arashi accepted all of this with a nod. "And Matsuo-sama?"

Sai nudged the slumped businessman with a foot; he was still out. Kakashi considered this. "I think Matsuo-sama should go home, don't you?"

"_We_ don't want him," Arashi said, and his contingent laughed.

"Then go," Kakashi said, standing at last from his position in front of Hosh, who had not joined in the laughter but was staring at the ground, hands shaking, awaiting certain death. Kakashi almost pitied him. "Go and keep to yourselves. By my watch, all the Kage will know about this by tomorrow evening."

_Done and dusted _except for transporting Matsuo back to the Kazekage. It was a long walk home for his squad, too.

* * *

><p>Sakura accepted the water he offered her soundlessly and without looking, but took a swallow big enough to hurt her newly-bruised throat; she winced and pressed her small fingertips to the bigger purpling prints Matsuo's killer grip had left on the tender parts of her neck.<p>

Neji had carried her trunkwards on the main branch of a pine tree, which was less comfortable than it was practical—there were few trees with leaves left now that winter was well and truly approaching. She hadn't taken long to recover from his blow—probably her good chakra control at work—and had woken up blinking fast and breathing hard. He'd had to grasp her arm firmly to keep her from falling off the branch. Now he waited, perched uncomfortably on one knee as she leaned against the trunk, for her to either say something or start moving on her own. He couldn't think of much to say himself besides 'What was that?' and there was no guarantee that Sakura would know the answer.

She swallowed another great gulp of water and this time didn't wince. Her eyes flickered over to Neji at last. He was relieved to find that she looked herself again, albeit more tired than the situation warranted. She kept staring, and he realized belatedly that he still had his painted-bird mask on. "Thank you," she said after looking down at herself. He'd retrieved the bathrobe she'd left on the side of the pool. "What's this stuff on it?"

"Debris. You didn't hear the explosion?"

Sakura shook her head. Her hair, still damp, stuck to her cheek like a stripe of black mud. "Well—yeah, I did, actually. But it seemed kind of far away."

Neji wasn't quite sure what to say to that. But he knew that when he woke up after a battle, the first thing he wanted was information. "Taichou had your admirer set it off to get all the samurai in place," he told her. "What you saw Arashi kill was a shadow clone. I didn't have Byakugan activated or I would've seen it immediately—I think Stag made a clone and placed a henge on it."

"That's impressive thinking," she murmured.

It was. It was genius—but there you go. "Do you know what happened after?"

Her mouth twisted. "I have some idea. But I'm lacking on the specifics. I assume I went kind of—spotty."

That was a mild relief in that he didn't have to try to explain it, but also a very troubling indication that this berserker mode was not new to her. "Matsuo pushed you under the water and you snapped his wrists. You threatened him with Arashi's dagger and I intervened. I had to take the target alive and you didn't seem to care."

She sighed and leaned her head against the tree trunk. "Did I say anything?"

"Yes," he said bluntly. "You told him that he had no right to kill Hosh. And then you told me, when I knocked him out, that you could take care of yourself, and that you weren't going to watch my back. Which is when I knocked you out as well. The others are dealing with the samurai and our target now."

"Was that necessary? Knocking me out?"

"You had Arashi's dagger at my throat and I was holding onto the target with one hand. I didn't want to use the other fending you off."

"That sounds necessary." She smiled, a little weakly. "Sorry you saw that. Did the others see?"

His knee was cramping, but that could be ignored. He frowned at her, a pointless gesture with the mask on, but she probably didn't need to see it to feel its weight. "No. They arrived after I knocked you out. So while I'll have to deal with our taichou glaring daggers at me for holding his naked student, you're free from their curious looks."

He could see the surprise on her face. "You're not going to tell Kakashi-sen—taichou?"

"No, you are. I don't know how to describe what happened to you, but you seem to have an idea of it." She winced again, but not from the bruises; he knew his tone was harsh. "I almost never make a team without you," he continued. "I know you're not careless. So take care of _this_."

She handed his canteen back to him and began to stand, a hand on the trunk for support. The bathrobe fell off her right shoulder at the movement, exposing a little more skin than he was quite comfortable with, but he'd seen about all of Sakura he'd ever see today anyway. He diplomatically adjusted it back into a seemly position on her shoulder as she straightened. She sent him another surprised glance—it was an unusual move for him, initiating casual touch.

Neji waited. Her gaze stayed. "Would you—" she said, just as he said "We should—"

She clamped her mouth shut. "What?" he asked.

"Would you help me?"

"With what?"

"With taking care of _this_," she quoted back to him. "With Byakugan. You can see chakra pathways and sense changes. I need help understanding the physiology of it before I can understand the psychology."

He stood, too, because he didn't like her looking down at him. "If you need psychology, you should talk to a Yamanaka. Or the Hokage."

"I don't want to go to the Yamanaka," she said abruptly. "I'm asking you. If you don't want to, that's fine. But I…"

When she trailed off, he took a good look at her again. He hadn't seen Sakura so troubled in a long time, although doubtless little could trouble any of them quite like the war had. Still—he thought back to her strange moment at the hospital before they'd left for Suna, the way she'd halted in mid-movement and stared at a point on the floor like it would break if her eyes left it. The way she'd waved it off and made some joke. Something about his shoulders?

He eyed her own. The bathrobe was slipping again.

Sakura took a breath. "I don't want to be a patient," she said through gritted teeth, forcing his gaze back to her face, "and I don't want to be a psychopath either." And then, spat out: "Help me."

The way she said it—a command, a desperate command. And the way she refused to look at him for the rest of the day—only kept her fists clenched and a weary smile on her face. And the way she adjusted the bathrobe after she'd asked for his help—and chuckled, and asked why he hadn't gotten her better clothes. And what Sai had said the other day—about being one of the flock, and about owing but not having a debt. These were the reasons he gave himself later that night, as they bivouacked in a ditch in their home country, ignoring the mutinous glares from behind the blindfold of Matsuo of the Sand and eating and discussing the mission, for saying yes. Yes, he would help her, what measly help he could give. How could he not? He owed.

"Shikamaru knows," she said on an exhale, after he'd acquiesced. "And Tsunade-sama. And Gaara, I think. That's all. And I'll tell Kakashi-taichou when we get home."

"Keeping it in-house, then," he said dryly.

Her face had cracked into a wholly unexpected grin. "_In-house_. Yes. Very much so."

He'd steadied her as they prepared to leave the haven of the pine tree. "Who would I tell?"

Who _would_ he tell? He still couldn't quite describe what he'd seen. She was still avoiding his eyes, which was easier now that she'd re-masked, and was talking instead in soft, conversational tones with Shino and Sai about their half of the mission. He saw Sai, very subtly, take her hand, on which she rested, and place his own over it. A simple thing, a very simple thing, and all Sakura did in response was lift her index finger and put it over her teammate's.

Neji wasn't a fatalist anymore, but he had never been quite ready to give up on fate. One KO by the village idiot and one deathly near-miss at a tender age hadn't divested him from the certainty—the knowledge—that he was prey to the mercies of the forces that came out in the world when its natural balance was pushed in one direction or the other. The second run-in with death hadn't changed much for him, either. It seemed to Neji that he was merely destined to always come right to the edge, to taste oblivion and bliss in their heavy sweetness, only to be brought back to violent life at the last minute. To live standing next to a chasm that pulled him one way and hands that pulled him the other, and to never be sure of which force he resented more.

He looked at her finger tapping a rhythm lightly on Sai's. Healer's hands. Hands that break things. Hands that clenched and soothed. She'd held a dagger to his throat and healed a hole in his chest so big he could have seen Hinata's shock and pain behind him without Byakugan, had he just looked through it. A grotesque thought.

He owed.

Who wouldn't _she_ tell? They were going home, after all. Adding just one more secret to a village too full of them already.


	9. asymptote

Thank you, thank you to all those who reviewed the last arc! I'm getting to reply to you slowly but surely; for now, take an update as token of my gratitude. This chapter was harder to write (it's always hard to write the beginnings of a Part II or a Part III) but it ended up framing things that needed to be framed. Don't forget all that happened in the first arc; it alllllways comes back. Thanks again!

* * *

><p><strong>nine: asymptote<strong>

She woke up to the light that filtered through the blessedly familiar linen curtains of her bedroom and the equally familiar feel of someone waiting for her to open her eyes.

Sakura blinked at the ceiling, unmoving and unwilling to talk just yet. One arm was thrown over her forehead and she realized she must have slept deeply—she'd fallen asleep like this, on her back and blocking pervasive moonlight from her eyes. She still wasn't fully recovered from Inner's outer rampage, it seemed. Her body ached, all her muscles tight like pulled springs. The two days previous had been hard and fast travel back: to Suna first, where Matsuo of the Sand was deposited in the office of the Kazekage and Kakashi had briefed an increasingly angry Gaara on all that had occurred. Then they'd made the trip back to Konoha in one day and one night. Not much time for R&R.

She closed her eyes again, remembering.

Gaara had stood behind his desk in quiet fury; a stream of sand actually came from his gourd and circled around his head as a deadly halo. His siblings stood in front of him, an intimidating trio no matter the circumstances, even with Kankurou's lack of face paint. "It was all for petty revenge."

Kakashi had nodded, hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched, belying the tension in his voice. "It sounds like the daimyo wanted either mass chaos in your country or Matsuo's death. He suspected that Matsuo might sell him out on the first plan, so he tried to ensure at least the latter."

"Either way, he was willing to sacrifice his connection to a hidden village—and his entire country—to senseless violence," Temari snarled. She looked, if anything, angrier than her brother. "And someone—him or Matsuo or the Land of Iron—ordered the slaughter of _our nin._ This should mean war."

Kankurou had sighed; Gaara had shaken his head. "Instigating war right now would be irresponsible. It's exactly what he wants: a distraction against his own incompetence. But the involvement of the Land of Iron one way or the other is troubling. I assume you've informed your Hokage of this already?"

"Sent out a message when we left the Land of Hot Water," Kakashi answered. Sakura had seen him scratch his jawline, an indication that he was getting tired of the formalities of reporting. "I'm sure Hokage-sama will contact you without much delay. Do you require anything further from us? We should be heading back to Konoha as soon as possible to deliver a full report."

The Kazekage was still frowning, but he shook his head again. "No, you're dismissed. I thank you for your services. Temari, Kankurou, if you would help them restock for the journey back?" And then, in a move Sakura had been both dreading and expecting, Gaara had turned his bright jade eyes on her Fox mask. "I'd like to speak with Haruno Sakura, taichou."

Kakashi had sent her a glance—she'd sketched him a brief outline of her little problem the night before, to which he had said nothing much, only nodded and sighed when appropriate, as was his way—and then shrugged. "We'll go as soon as you're finished with her."

_Finished with her._ Ominous way to put it.

Once Temari had shut the door of the Kazekage's office behind her team and Kankurou had made sure to give her a wave and a rather hefty wink, Sakura unmasked herself. Gaara was looking at her as one might regard a vaguely interesting rock, but the sand that had been floating above him stirred, as if it was aware that the two of them were alone. Maybe it did, she thought, remembering what Shikamaru had said about its earned affinity for chakra.

"You have an interesting mask," the Kazekage said.

It wasn't like Gaara to beat around the bush. She knew what he wanted to talk about and immediately resented him for not getting to it. "Naruto's idea, evidently. Kazekage-sama."

"Formalities aren't necessary."

"Then," she said, testy and tired and watching the sand waver in her direction, "can we please get to the point?"

Gaara looked amused at her insolence. He came across to the other side of the desk and leaned his weight against it, an unusually casual pose. Sakura wondered for a moment where she'd crossed the spectrum from being a victim of his bloodlust to a co-conspirator, a holder of secrets, a friend standing in his office alone. "Something about you has changed. The sand sensed it, so I sensed it, too."

"If you're looking for an explanation, I don't have one," she said, shamed at once by the way her voice sounded weary. "Or at least not a good one."

"It is not my problem," he answered starkly. "But I think it is a significant problem for you. I recognized the feeling of your chakra when it came back with the sand. It felt familiar—like the way Shukaku used to tinge my own chakra and the way Kurama changes Naruto's."

"I'm not a jinchuuriki."

He sent her a measured glare, and she realized he wanted her to take this conversation much more seriously than she was. "So what are you?"

Who the hell knew? She chewed her words for a moment before presenting them. "Just a girl with some problems," she answered at last. "Forgive me, Gaara, but I can't answer any better than that. I've been having some very violent dreams."

He was still glaring at her, apparently unsatisfied with her answer. "I sent Naruto a letter. I told him what I've seen."

She gaped at him. "You—" The sand above him danced. A tendril whipped over to her, lightning-fast, and wound around her arm. It felt rough and familiar.

"He has a relationship with his darkness that I never did," the Kazekage said calmly, placing one word in front of the other in order to counteract her anger. "He can help you, and he should help you. This is not a thing that should be kept from him."

"_Should_ be—" Sakura sputtered, angry at herself for her inability to find the right thing to say. _Invasion of privacy! None of your business! You don't know anything about it!_ But what was done was done; if Gaara had told Naruto his suspicions, the letter was already in her friend's hands. Frustrated, she tried to brush his sand off of her arm. It was just another invasion of her space. But it wrapped around her arm again as if it belonged there or as if it didn't want to leave.

Sighing, Gaara called it back, letting her stew in her anger. The granules seemed reluctant to leave her skin. She watched the last one go and swallowed—her arm felt a little bare now, more exposed. "It protected me," she blurted out suddenly.

The Kazekage had looked interested at that. "Did it?"

She nodded. "When I was—dreaming. When it was happening, the sand reacted, and it protected me. Why did it—why?"

Gaara looked above him, where the sand hovered like a fine mist, caught between the energy of the two of them. "Most likely," he said in slow tones, "the same reason I sent Naruto the message."

"And what might _that_ be?" Her voice was acid incapable of properly burning. It slid off him, and off of her, too, when he looked back at her with eyes too similar to her own to be comfortable. It was like looking into a strange, fractured mirror. Maybe he felt the same, because when he spoke again he tilted his head as if to see her from a different angle.

"I owe Uzumaki Naruto very much for showing me that precious people offer strength. For all intents and purposes, it is a life-debt." The Kazekage had blinked at her, and she'd felt something in her stomach shift. "I would not have his most precious person taken from him."

Now, Sakura opened her eyes again, and this time she sat up to face him: Naruto, sitting on the chair at her desk, leaning his elbow on a stack of hospital reports grown taller since her absence, head propped up on his fist. He was watching her with a small smile. "I didn't hear you and that bastard get in last night," he said. "Sneaky ANBU."

"If we couldn't sneak into our own house, we wouldn't have gotten the job," she said, and she didn't have to fake her smile. It was _always_ good to see Naruto again. Every time one of them came home from a mission it was like seeing him come back from his time with Jiraiya all over again: strong hands and arms, bronzed skin, whisker-scars and that shock of beautiful yellow hair, easy smile, easy _Sakura-chan!_, easy love.

"I heard you beat Sasuke-teme before you left," he said, getting up from the desk and popping his neck.

"Don't do that, idiot, you'll hurt yourself," she said on reflex, and he grinned even wider. "It was a draw, anyway."

Naruto raised his eyebrows. "Not the way he told it. And you know how he is about losing."

"I cheated, a little bit." The sunlight caught on his blue, blue eyes. She should have chosen his eyes for her henge as Tsukiko. Odd that Sasuke would have told Naruto about losing, but then, Sasuke had always been exponentially more open with Naruto than he was with her. (Not that exponents meant much when you were multiplying zeroes.)

"Take the credit, Sakura-chan," Naruto said, hands in his pockets like Kakashi. "And give him some for saying it. You won the fight."

He was being different—more patient, more serious, and softer. He was only ever like this when he was revving himself to talk about something unpleasant. Sakura didn't much care, though; she was just so happy to _see_ him. It overwhelmed. In one movement, she was out of bed and launching herself at him, catching Naruto around the neck with both arms. Immediately his went around her back and squeezed. "I missed you," she said into his neck, and upon saying it realized it was true. She was warmer than him in post-sleep. "Idiot."

"Missed you, too, Sa-kura-chan." His arms caught her tighter when he said her name. She wondered briefly if he hugged Hinata like this and immediately banished the thought, ashamed at herself. It was not hers to wonder.

He pulled back first. "Gaara wrote to me."

"I know," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. It was still brown, although a lighter shade than it had been at the start, and rough on the edges. She'd have to alleviate Kakashi's rough handiwork. She'd have to wait for the dye to fade. She missed her colors fiercely. Maybe there was some kind of rinse for it? She'd ask Ino.

"We'll talk about it," Naruto promised her, hands still on her waist, distracting her from rambling thoughts. "Baa-chan wants to see you and me and Kakashi-sensei today."

"What, about me?"

"About you, but I think about something else, too." He shrugged. "She's been holding things back recently."

"I know the feeling."

She was joking and he was frowning. "Sakura-chan, what happened to your neck?" Naruto's hand came up to her throat and touched the bruises there softly, reverently, as if they were the most grievous injuries she'd ever received.

"Our target tried to strangle me."

His eyes tightened somehow and looked rather too piercingly into hers. "What?"

"Don't worry," she said flippantly, "I broke his wrists."

"You didn't heal yourself?" Naruto demanded, stepping closer, looming over her. His hackles were raised. "Why the hell'd you keep the bruises? They're somebody's _handprints_…"

She wondered at his fury—it wasn't so much the injuries themselves that bothered him as it was the signal that she had been harmed so brutally, and with such intent to kill and conquer, and out of his sight and away from his help. Gently, she pried his hands away from her body and stepped back. Overwhelming. "Naruto, I was there to heal the others," she answered practically. "I wasn't going to waste chakra on something that'll go away on its own."

He let his hands drop, but they twitched. "Still. You could get rid of them now."

"If I do, will you get off my back and go make some coffee? And then we can go see Tsunade-shishou."

Naruto cracked a grin in answer and she marveled in its power to warm her. Amazing that someone could bring so much light to a room that when he leaves it, thumping to the kitchen like an overgrown child, things suddenly grow cold for the lack of him.

* * *

><p>Kakashi didn't much like the way Tsunade was looking at him: her eyes were squinted at the corners and her reddened lips turned slightly downward. Her chest rose and fell in breaths that were a little too purposeful. Her nails drummed on the desk in a brain-itching rhythm. She was not, it seemed, pleased. "So you <em>blew up<em> the caravan?"

"Yep."

She looked like she could gladly sink her nails into his eyes. "What made you think that was the best call? The last thing we need is an unaffiliated country getting in a hissy fit about an onsen."

He shifted his weight and shrugged a shoulder. "Nara brought me the samurai Hosh, who the daimyo had entrusted with sealing ability for the explosives. Things were going downhill fast. I was getting reports that Sakura was being engaged by the target. Nara gave me his best guess as to the purpose of the explosives. The best we could do is get rid of the threat they posed and take Matsuo back to Suna for questioning about his ties with the Land of Iron and why they're so willing to get into trouble with shinobi all of a sudden."

"No doubt the samurai was killed."

"No doubt. Shame. He helped us out."

Tsunade rolled her eyes as if doing so had been a colossal waste of Hosh's time. Which, Kakashi supposed, it had been. Didn't make his death any less of a shame. "And the origin of the explosives?"

"Samples should be at the labs now. I can follow up later if you want, but." _But I'd rather not._

She gave him a rather sharp look. "And this problem with Sakura?"

Oh, that. Kakashi exhaled through his nose. "I didn't see it happen. She told me about it on the way back. I take it Hyuuga saw her go sort of—odd—and knocked her out to keep her from killing Matsuo. She described it like… like a second personality. Like Sasuke under the curse seal or Naruto under the Nine-Tails. I don't think I've ever seen her do anything like—" He stopped. That wasn't true. If he was being completely honest with himself, weren't there moments where Sakura had acted out in rage or ferocity? Had shown him something that wasn't quite like herself?

"What?"

"Oh, just remembering." He paused, marshaling his thoughts. "The chuunin exams, before your time. She was in a fight against Yamanaka Ino."

"During the time of their rivalry, then? I know they were good friends as children."

Kakashi looked up, surprised. How much personal detail had Sakura divulged to her mentor, after all? The rivalry his student had once shared with Yamanaka Ino was something he'd only ever guessed at, but he'd had no idea that the two had been close before their fight. He felt an unwelcome stab of something: jealousy? Annoyance? Petulantly he thought, _They were my students then._ "Sure," he answered dully. "Anyway, Yamanaka used her bloodline technique and put Sakura under. She was looking for a forfeit. Naruto yelled at Sakura like a fool—he didn't know what was going on, why she was forfeiting—and Sakura just…threw her out of her head."

Tsunade sent him a wry look. "You never thought to ask how your least capable student managed to reverse a kekkei genkai she'd never before been up against?"

Indignant—that's how he felt. "There was a lot going on. I pegged it to her chakra control and Naruto's influence and concentrated on the fact that one of my students had just received a _curse seal_ from your ex-teammate."

"Mm." She tapped her lips with the same rhythm she'd drummed on the desk, ignoring both his sardonic tone and his impertinence. "That is curious, isn't it?" He didn't like the way she said it, as if it was both 'curious' that Sakura had thrown off the Yamanaka's technique and that he hadn't bothered to ask her about it afterwards. The Hokage was silent for a moment, her gaze focused on her knees. Kakashi longed for his bed. Any bed. He'd stayed up all night discussing this shit with her and he hadn't been home yet to shower or change. He smelled like sweat and dirt. The ties of his mask, which he'd taken off long ago, chafed his neck. "Kakashi."

She was looking at him again. "What."

"I think I'm done with this."

A creeping dread tickled his neck, and he decided at once to ignore it. He got up slowly. "Good, me too. So I'll head home—if you want anything written up, get Nara or Sakura to do it, because I—"

"That's not what I mean and you know it," she barked. "Sit back down."

He sat.

"You've grown as a teacher since then," she said, looking him directly in the eye. "And as a shinobi. You wouldn't ignore her now."

A part of him whined, _Are you sure about that?_

"I want you to think seriously about becoming my successor."

Without really meaning to, Kakashi hung his head; it was nothing other than he'd expected, and yet hearing it out loud seemed to sap all his energy. When he found a voice with which to speak, it was raspy. "What about Obito?"

"What?"

He could have killed himself right then. "Naruto. What about Naruto?"

She snarled at him, frustrated. "Don't be stupid. He's nowhere near ready. But I—I'm not for this anymore. I was thrust into this in a war's climate and I need to thrust myself out now, before another one starts up. I need to be a medic again. I'm tired of the politics. And if I leave and you take over, we can both help Naruto prepare."

"And you think I'd be able to handle the politics better than you."

"Not at all," she said blankly. He looked up. "But I think you can handle them just as well as I can. You hold your temper better, anyway."

He studied her. The Hokage did look a little tired, but _he_ felt like the living dead right now, and the idea of putting that stupid hat on and performing the stupid ceremonial duties and dealing with the paperwork and sending people out to die didn't seem like a fair trade for giving her some extra rest. A part of him, the same part that had doubted he treated Sakura any differently than he had when she was twelve, wanted to flat-out refuse. Wanted to say, no, I've done my duty. I've trained a team and they're all still alive, and I've helped save the world from gods and monsters, and I've killed a lot of people and saved too few, and I've gone on a lot of S-rank missions and nearly died too many times, and I work _for_ the village, I don't manage it. But a bigger part of him, the part that had been molded and forged by the Yondaime and by the Sandaime and by his own students, knew that what he was being asked to do was the highest form of service to the village he could offer.

He still desperately wanted to say no. _What allegiances are really worth keeping?_

"That's unfair," he said finally. "You knew that if you asked, I'd say yes."

She nodded, at last looking a little ashamed. "You knew it was happening anyway. Everyone knew it would be you." She grinned at him, a thin little smile. "This village has had its fair share of reluctant leaders. You wouldn't be the first. But you know what they say about greatness."

"I don't, actually," he said mildly. "How do you want to break the news?"

There was a knock at the office door, and Shizune and Ton-Ton poked their respective heads in the opening. "Sakura and Naruto are here," Shizune reported. Ton-Ton moved a foot in Kakashi's direction and he waved absently back, hating everything.

Tsunade nodded and turned halfway towards Kakashi again. "I guess we start with your team, then."

"Start what, baa-san? Not another mission. We can't keep leaving Sasuke-teme behind, it's unfair." Naruto was characteristically leading the charge into the Hokage's office, Sakura shuffling behind him with a carryout cup of coffee in her hand. The smell made Kakashi feel slightly delirious. Was it morning already?

"No," Tsunade said smartly, "although fairness has little to do with it. Sit. Sakura, you look like the walking dead." She paused; the two jounin sat obediently, although Sakura shot the Hokage a rather testy look. Tsunade continued blithely. "We were just talking about my retirement."

The "what!" from his students was simultaneous and loud. _How cute._

The Hokage sighed like a good actress would. Just another meeting with silly jounin, just another mission assigned. "I'm done with being Hokage," she said in rather clipped tones. "It's as simple as that. I've done my duty. Kakashi will be succeeding me, and unless something goes direly wrong, I imagine this idiot will be next." She inclined her head to Naruto, who looked appropriately thunderstruck. "So."

Sakura unstuck her tongue first, as she was wont to do. "But—but the Elders, won't they have something to say about this? And the clan heads will be _furious_ about an early abdication so soon after the war—" Kakashi was rather hurt. Did she have such little faith in him?

Tsunade waved her concerns away. "Let me worry about the Elders and the clan heads. It's been a year since the war; everyone needs to get their heads on straight. We can't worry every damn day if the world's about to explode. It happens too often anyway."

Sakura would not be silenced. "But this news about the Land of Iron—"

"I get the sense," Kakashi said, unable to keep the tiredness out of his voice, "that you don't much trust my leadership."

She scowled at him. "Don't be stupid, Kaka-sensei, it's not that, it's just that—that—" She struggled for words.

Kakashi tried his best to sound righteously indignant. "Stupid? Where is your respect for the new Hokage?"

She side-eyed him over her coffee and he promptly swiped it from her. "Hey!"

"Being village leader entitles me to all sorts of perks," he said, savoring the first sip from the corner of his mouth, careful to keep his face from view. Why ruin the fun after all this time? "Isn't that right, Hokage-sama?"

Tsunade sighed. "I'm entrusting my village to a bunch of children."

"At least his drink of choice is _coffee,_" Sakura muttered, returning her mentor's glare. "Why didn't you talk to anyone about this? Why didn't you tell us? Naruto, didn't we—" She did a double-take. Kakashi leaned forward to see. "Naruto?"

The blonde had a fierce, fierce smile stretching his scarred chees. He turned to Sakura, brilliant, effusive, almost glowing. "Sakura-chan," he said, sounding like an eager little boy again, "Kakashi-sensei's going to be Hokage! And I'll be—I'll be the next." He seemed to inflate. "This is amazing! Our team—our team is _amazing!"_

Kakashi sighed and watched Sakura try in vain to suppress a smile. There was something very contagious about Naruto's cheer. _Yet another power the kid has._

Tsunade put a hand to her head as if to remind herself that it was still there. "It does certainly amaze." She sent a glance to Kakashi. "On to other matters now. We can talk logistics later. Would you like to stay?"

Another trap. He hated this. If he left, he would be the neglectful teacher again. If he stayed, he was an hour and a half further from his bed.

Kakashi shrugged. He had coffee now. He could stand another hour. He batted away Sakura's lightning-quick attempt to snag her mug back.

"Not to ruin the mood, then," Tsunade said, casting anther amused look at Naruto's badly-restrained glee, "but we do have something else to talk about."

Sakura looked up warily from attempting to steal back her coffee. "I don't suppose this has something to do with my big forehead, does it?"

The Hokage didn't lose her smile, but it did change. Kakashi watched. It warmed. It warmed and radiated in the direction of Haruno Sakura. _This girl will carry pieces of the hearts of three Hokage._ It was like a prophecy, or a benediction, or a warning.

"I'm afraid it does."

* * *

><p>Somehow, Neji still felt an unbidden trill of fear and anger every time his uncle summoned him. He'd learned to master it after Hiashi had moved to reconcile with him and he'd learned the truth about his father's death—to swallow the self-instilled bitterness and the thick ropes of poisonous anger and just <em>move on.<em> But he'd found that moving on was extraordinarily difficult, and he couldn't help, now, the frown he knew creased his face, and the grimace he knew contorted his upper lip. It wasn't much. Just a couple moments to compose himself. But it was still necessary after all these years.

The rapid slap of bare feet on the floor signaled Hanabi: only the heir would dare run so loudly within Hiashi's earshot. She poked his shoulder—she was tall enough to manage it now, a true teenager, a true terror—and grinned at him. Her black hair was astonishingly long now. He thought fleetingly that she was getting dangerously pretty, and that maybe she should cut it short—it would look good short, it would be practical short—but then she spoke, loud enough to wake the dead and rouse his uncle.

"Why're you just standing there?"

Black-haired devil child. Neji stifled a long-suffering sigh, cast his cousin a sideways glance that would have made someone less used to it quail (Hanabi only scoffed), and, seeing no other choice, knocked on Hiashi's door.

"Enter."

Neji slid the door open and closed in one quick motion. "Hiashi-sama."

Hiashi looked up, paler eyes on Neji's with a quickness that belied his age. He sat at a desk stacked with scrolls and low lamplight tinged his white eyes gold and cast the wrinkles around the firm mouth into great relief. Masklike. "Come, sit. How was the mission?"

Neji raised a brow and folded himself neatly in front of his uncle's writing desk, sitting squarely on the cushion provided. The room was old-fashioned and sparse, a very Main House style: dark wooden beams, cream-colored walls, dim light, a door to the garden on the left that was shut, at this time of year, to keep out the cold. "It was an ANBU mission. I'm not allowed to say."

The clan elder rolled his eyes in a 'spare me' sort of way. "I'm aware of ANBU confidentiality policies, Neji, and believe me that I know of your mission regardless of them. Our Hokage called a meeting of clan heads and Elders to discuss certain… developments in the governing of our village, including one troubling bit of news late of an ANBU mission to Suna regarding the questionable neutrality of the Land of Iron. I am old, Neji, and have been able to put two and two together for some time."

"Be that as it may, I am still not permitted to—"

Hiashi sighed. "I am asking after you, not the details of your work. It was your first mission under someone else's captaincy in a long time, correct?"

Neji willed himself not to be suspicious of his uncle's interest; it did no good anymore. "It was, yes. But it posed no problems. We worked efficiently together."

"It was a good squad?"

"Very much so. A few of my own preferred squad. A well-formed team."

Hiashi nodded and said nothing, only looked at him with the sort of benign countenance pictures of saints usually affected. Neji could think of nothing else to report that Hiashi might care about, and so stayed as contentedly silent as his uncle looked. The silence stretched wide until Neji felt he'd had enough benevolence for the day.

"Well, if that's all—"

"It is not."

_Of course it isn't._

Hyuuga Hiashi was not one to make spare movements; there was no shuffling of papers while he mulled his thoughts, no tapping of fingers, no fussing with pen and ink. Neji willed himself to act the same and kept his hands still on his knees until Hiashi spoke again. "Believe it or not, Neji, there are those here who worry after you."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Hinata has kept me apprised: you're taking mission after mission with infinitesimal breaks in between." His uncle eyed him with the sort of stern paternalism that made Neji want to flip the table over and upset all his neat stacks. "It is not healthy."

Something a little like indignant rage simmered in his chest and the tips of his fingers. "Respectfully, Hiashi-sama, there is no need to worry about me. I am aware of my limitations."

"A little over a year ago you nearly died," Hiashi said, forgoing all delicacy now, "and since the war has ended you've been taking more missions as ANBU captain than the Hokage can give out. She forced you into a subordinate position for this last one. Do not tell me about limitations. It is one thing to know them and another to wish for opportunities to extend past them."

"I assure you that I—"

"You have not been complying even with _minimum_ recovery periods after injury. I have seen your medical charts. You were supposed to be resting that shoulder last week, not running around the world."

Neji scowled with abandon now; if Hiashi wasn't going to restrain himself, nor would he. "You're accusing me of having a death wish."

Hiashi's voice was stern and solid, like cold ground on bare feet. "I am not accusing you of anything at all, nephew. I am expressing concern for an integral member of my village and my clan. Hinata and Hanabi care for you very much and do not deserve to see you greet death of your own accord."

"What they deserve has nothing to do with it. They have seen and will see deaths besides my own." Neji stood, abruptly, with the full and exciting realization that he was being terribly, irreparably disrespectful. Flagrantly insolent. A Branch Family member playing all the wrong cards. "I am meeting my genin team. Please do excuse me."

He felt no relief, only mild surprise, when Hiashi didn't immediately shout after him—remind Neji of his place, give another patronizing appeal about his cousins' mental well-being, say that he belonged to the clan and that was all there was to it. Instead, Hiashi waited until Neji slid the door open, and even then his voice was quiet. "You are a shinobi, Neji. So death comes when it comes—there's no need to go looking for it."

_But that's the job, isn't it?_

Neji shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure why he'd lied to Hiashi.<p>

The café at which he was to meet Sakura was small and out of the way, in a corner of the village shinobi didn't normally frequent. Sakura, who had scheduled with Neji through Lee, which had been a mistake ("Neji! You must tell me what this is all about. The most beautiful flower braved the winter chill to ask me to ask you…"), was one of the only people sitting at a table outside despite the ice in the air, sipping thoughtfully from tea that steamed in a large ceramic bowl. She was dressed for the weather, a thick red coat thrown over her medic uniform and black leggings under the regulation skirt. So she was already on shift at the hospital, only three days after returning from Suna? Her hair was still light brown but pink was starting to show through, a decidedly odd color in execution. She didn't look up until Neji approached the table and tapped three fingers to it to notify her of his arrival. "Neji-san, hi."

"I'm sorry I'm late. Hiashi-sama wanted a word."

She flapped her hand. "No problem. Do you want something? I know it's cold but I'd rather be out here than inside—it's crowded."

He wished fleetingly that he'd brought a heavier coat, but he felt like the residual anger from his confrontation with Hiashi would probably keep him warm enough. "I will get tea. Would you like something else?"

"No, no, I'm fine with this. Thank you."

Such politeness between the two of them. Where had her sharp jokes gone? Going into the café for his tea Neji remembered how happy she'd been when Nara Shikamaru had brought her lunch at the hospital seemingly unprompted, and how she'd laughed with him, so friendly. _'Shikamaru, you're a prince among men!'_ "Jasmine, please."

When he took his tea outside she looked a little more alert, a little readier to face what she'd asked of him. "So," she began as he took the chair opposite her, "I had a little conference with Tsunade-shishou and Naruto and Kakashi-sensei."

"Naruto, too?" He'd thought she'd have wanted to keep it quiet from her housemates, but then again, Uzumaki was her best friend and greatest champion and notoriously nosy; she couldn't have kept it secret for long.

"I didn't have a choice with that one." She exhaled, parting the steam coming from her cup. He saw it curl around her head like a spirit's hands cupping her cheeks. "The Kazekage wrote to him about me."

"Why in the world did he do that?"

Sakura shrugged one shoulder in a very Kakashi way. "I don't know. Well," she amended, "I guess I do. He could tell that, um—the sand, when it went back to him, carried traces of my chakra with it, and he sensed it through that. He said it reminded him of himself back when—back when he was a jinchuuriki." She ducked her head, apparently ashamed. "I'm not sure about that, but it seemed to bother him enough to think that Naruto should know and help."

The Kazekage was that interested in Sakura's mental health? _Friends in high places._ "It sounds like you hardly need me, what with the Kazekage and Konoha's resident demigod in your camp."

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so flippant; she looked up, all startled green eyes. But then she laughed, a warble he was a little unfamiliar with. She leaned back in her chair now, cradling her tea with both hands, the grin remaining. "Gaara said Naruto has a better relationship with the Nine-Tails than he ever had with Shukaku. He thought Naruto could help me get into a groove with Inner."

"With what?"

"Oh, no." She shook her head and her grin turned rueful. "I guess I'll have to start at the beginning. Do you… do you remember, at all, my fight with Ino at the chuunin exams?"

"Yes," he said immediately, surprising even himself. He _did_ remember. For one thing, he'd paid attention to everyone in the chuunin exams in an effort to find weaknesses in his potential future opponents. For another, Sakura and Yamanaka Ino's fight had been full of weaknesses: Sakura had displayed good strategy up to a point; the Yamanaka performed a peak bloodline technique in full view of competing nin; the taijutsu had been lackluster; neither of them had _really_ played to their strengths; etc. And for a third, it was hard to ignore a fight that Lee had seemed so invested in, forever shouting at his pink-haired 'flower of youth' even after Neji had threatened him with incapacitation.

Wisely, he didn't mention any of this. "You threw off the Yamanaka technique, I remember that. And then ended in a draw. Lots of drama, too, if I remember correctly. Some things about hair and foreheads."

She gave him A Look. "Yes, I know—look, I was a preteen. I could go over your little 'destiny' speech from your fight with Naruto—"

It was a good thing the Hyuuga rarely blushed. Neji set his tea down. "No."

Sakura sipped hers in mild triumph. "Well. Anyway, I could only force Ino out because I had a little help. From inside my… head." She caught his raised eyebrow before he could think to lower it. "I know how it sounds. For as long as I could remember, though, I had this… I had Inner Sakura, you know, like a cooler, more confident, badass version of myself just laid up in my head, ready for anything. She helped me a lot, actually, when I had to do things I wasn't quite ready for, or I had to kick it up a notch. But," she added, and she was hurrying now, as if talking quicker would reduce the damage, "she started disappearing as I got more focused, after Sasuke left and when I worked with Tsunade-shishou on chakra control and became, you know, more of a person."

Neji took a drink and waited for her to continue. The tea was good. Sakura was still cupping hers with two hands, but she leaned against the back of her chair, apparently at ease; she was looking up at the gray sky, the overhanging clouds signaling winter. "Now, when I—what you saw—well, Inner is back. But this time I don't see her or talk to her of my own volition; she appears when she wants to, randomly almost, with awful visions. Mostly when I'm asleep, but sometimes I hear her voice during the day. She's calmer now, kind of sinister, but very earnest: she wants me to see these things. I try to avoid them—the dreams—my body reacts. I vomit, usually," she said, almost apologetically, and then, in a medic's tone: "It's a disruption of the central nervous system, the need to purge; it's usually an immediate response to something toxic in the system, so it overrides other brain activity. Tsunade-shishou has a theory that it's all due to this." She pointed at the diamond seal on her forehead.

"You store chakra there, yes?"

She nodded. "I have been for years now. A little every day. Tsunade-shishou thinks it's a problem of chakra leaking out or something, affecting my frontal lobe from there—like a genjutsu."

"Not other parts of your brain?"

"It wouldn't have to, not really." Sakura pushed out a breath between her teeth. "We know very little, really, about how architecture up there relates to function, but it's pretty clear to medic nin from seeing brain injuries that the frontal lobe, at least, is in charge of the complex stuff: decision-making, restraint, interpretation, condensing learned material."

"And hallucinations."

"Hard to say." She licked an errant teadrop from the side of her cup, a move that would have sent Neji's uncle flailing at the table. "At the very least, brain damage to the frontal lobe can sever some connections that allow for accurate processing of sensory information. Genjutsu does typically affect higher-order cognitive functions in the same way."

Neji pondered this for a moment. "When I've seen it happen, it looks to me like your chakra is spiraling out, not inwards. When you went after Matsuo it covered your body like a film." He coughed suddenly. "Covered you, I mean."

Sakura's mouth twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. "That's what it feels like to me, too. It sounds like a—like possession of some sort. But it makes sense that the visions come when I'm asleep if Tsunade-shishou is right—there's plenty of uncontrolled activity in the frontal lobe during sleep, and if it's affected by the chakra stored on my forehead then I have no way to actively change it when I'm unconscious."

She pressed her lips together in thought and Neji leaned forward as something occurred to him. "Did you _let_ Matsuo choke you?"

Green eyes wide. "I don't think so. I mean, I certainly would rather he didn't." She gave a little laugh.

Neji was undeterred. "You were underwater long enough to have passed out, but you could have broken his hold easily. Passing out gave, ah—Inner Sakura—control over your decision-making. Did you _want_ that to happen?"

Sakura blanched and set her cup down on the table with a rather loud crack. "I didn't think of that. It's all sort of—it's blurry. I remember…" Bereft of something to hold, her hands fell into her lap. She plucked at a loose string on her coat. "I remember seeing Hosh get his throat cut. I remember hearing an explosion and going underwater. And then I remember waking up in the tree, with you."

Neji leaned back too, so that they were as far away from each other as the furnishings of a couple's table would allow. She was thinking, looking away from him, biting her lip. As casually as possible he activated his Byakugan—and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Only the steady rise and fall and pulse of her chakra pathways as her heart beat and she breathed like a regular human. When he returned to normal vision, she was in the same position. He remembered his tea, growing cooler by the second in his hand.

"I'm a fool," she said suddenly, still not facing him. "I just realized—Hosh must have—"

Neji didn't say anything. She'd obviously forgotten about the samurai until now, so he couldn't have meant too much to her. But she looked rather crestfallen nonetheless. "What did the Hokage say in your conference?" he asked after a moment, determined to press on.

"Naruto is going to help me meditate," she answered. "He had to in order to master Sage Mode. But I'm going to have to try and turn it in the opposite direction—instead of communing outwards with nature I have to turn it inwards. Commune with _her_." She scowled. "I'm horrible at meditation."

"Would that produce more visions?"

She shrugged and turned back to him. "If it makes them stop eventually, I'll take on more for the short-term. But I was thinking that you could watch and see exactly what happens physically when I speak with her. If you're still… if I haven't freaked you out."

Sakura looked anxious again. He supposed it was, objectively, a very strange request for her to make and for him to take. He was often her captain. He was her senior in rank (although not by much) and not one of her close friends. What did they have to tie themselves besides a propensity for good work together and his life in her hands? "I am not," he said when she began to sit back, dejected, "so easily 'freaked.' Whenever you begin meditating with Naruto, I will sit with you."

She brightened so quickly, a star's brief flare. "Really? Neji-san, thank you, thank you."

'_You're a prince among men!'_ He shook his head. It was well and truly cold outside now, and so was his half-drunk tea. "I promised."

"You're not going on another mission soon, though? I know you keep busy."

Something sharp passed through him, but she wasn't saying it disparagingly; on the contrary, she shone at him. He stood. "I will take something if I am asked," he said seriously. "But when I am home, I will do what I can."

"I really don't know how to thank you." She stood, too, producing change from her coat pocket and putting it on the table—enough, he saw, to cover both of them.

That would not do. Swiftly, he swiped her money, put down too much of his own, and poured her coins back into her hand. She frowned, but a shake of his head effectively silenced her. "Just keep Naruto out of my hair," he said snobbishly, because it seemed important to end on a higher note, "and tell him that if he mentions anything untoward regarding my cousin, it'll be his head under examination. Not yours."

She let out a surprised little laugh at that and pocketed her change; when she looked back up at him, her eyes were hard, and happier than he'd expected. "That's a deal."

They walked from the café together in quiet. She was much shorter than him. He turned his eyes upwards, too, as Sakura had in her chair, and watched the gray sky, unchanging. Frost would come soon, and his breath would show in the cold. He'd have to remember on missions to breathe through the nose. And to pack the heavier black cloak. And replace his kunai—they needed to be sharpened. He could ask TenTen to do it. And it might be beneficial to practice taijutsu with Lee again; surveillance missions did little for the reflexes, and the cold slowed him down.

"So," Sakura ventured casually, breaking his thoughts right down the middle, "what did your uncle want?"


	10. cardinalities

A/N: This chapter went through a lot of revisions. We're moving towards some more action soon, so forgive me these character sketches! And you get your first taste of romance here, too. Like I said at the beginning, no pairing is a sure thing; my goal is to make the character progression as realistic as possible. So!

Thanks again to all you who reviewed. It gives me inspiration and motivation. Please continue!

Oh, and P.S.: If you ever have questions about the chapter titles, or find them confusing, send me a message. There's a reason behind every one.

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><p><strong>ten: cardinalities<strong>

The first frost of the year crunched under Sakura's boots and she shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, curling her thumbs around her knuckles to conserve warmth. Stupid to have forgotten gloves. But the cold air of the morning felt good, really good—she took big, even breaths as she walked and felt it slip into her like sipping water. Hard to believe she'd been sweating in the desert not two weeks ago.

The trees that shaded Konoha every other season crooked their sharp fingers over her now, acting as gate or passageway or warning. Pass Ichiraku, pass the flower shop, turn off the main road and onto a skinny path bordered by Nara land. She'd never visited the memorials as a kid beyond what rite and ritual called for—she'd never had a need to, uniquely privileged as she was to have a family largely outside of shinobi business.

She'd visited her parents today, in fact. It was a cordial visit, as they all were—they'd asked after her health and her friends, she'd asked after the business and all those distant clansmen whose names she could remember, her mother had inquired about her mission with a rather distant glance to the spiral tattoo on her shoulder, her father had given her an old, framed Haruno clan print for her wall—"So you don't forget," he'd said, not bitterly but kindly—and then she'd left, tracing over the glass the empty space within her clan symbol in endless circling scratches.

Now she traced the characters of Uchiha Obito's name. Resurrections, reincarnations, and parallels—she was so tired of being part of the past, repeated. She just wished Kakashi had told her about Rin and Obito sooner before it had to play out in front of all of them: his life before the genin team that'd aged him so much, unspooling in front of everyone like life's thread. If she'd had time for embarrassment and pity back then, she would have been embarrassed for him, pitied him.

And now Kaka-sensei would be Hokage. The thought cheered her a little, even though she knew he wasn't exactly keen on the job—he'd be good at it, and maybe that was all that mattered right now. Some of the best leaders were those who never thought they could lead. Like Gaara. She'd have no idea how to handle what Gaara was handling.

Wind Country was in uproar, Tsunade had told her privately, after the daimyo's treachery had been made public by a well-placed leak ("I really didn't know _how_ politically apt the Kazekage was until this mess"). Apparently the daimyo opened the reservoirs when the scandal broke, trying to scrape together some gobbets of dignity, so at least Suna was safe and happy enough; but the daimyo would surely be ousted from his position, either by military or political coup. Suna wasn't going to take over the country, but Gaara was masterfully playing political strings to ensure that the daimyo's successor would be one who listened to the hidden village.

With Matsuo in custody, Suna was trying to learn more about the Land of Iron's negligible neutrality. Tsunade had sent a Yamanaka there to pry the truth out in case Matsuo remained reticent under Suna's scrutiny (unlikely), but for the most part it was out of Konoha's hands, and they had only to wait for the Kazekage to glean enough information to share. And then: should Konoha and Suna share that information with the other ninja villages? Sakura privately thought that certainly Kumogakure should know that Konoha had stopped a terrorist attack on their gates, but even knowing of the attempt might turn suspicion on Suna or Konoha, who already tended to get side-eyed by the other villages for their close, personal partnership. Maybe it was best to wait until Tsunade officially stepped down and Kakashi could cast new eyes on it all. Sharingan-less eyes.

Suddenly, her middle finger resting on 'Obito,' she felt her throat constrict again, and her heart accelerated—she breathed in sharply once, twice, three times, and the cold air pierced her lungs like a broken rib. Sakura swallowed hard multiple times and rocked back on her heels; her fingers felt fuzzy, tingly, and the alarm was all-consuming. _Poison?_ There was a neurotoxin that Kirigakure used that had these symptoms—or maybe—_who—_ Dizzy all at once, she crouched in front of the memorial stone, balancing with her hands on the ground. She swallowed again and it felt like trying to dislodge a stubborn piece of bread. A minute had passed. _Not poison._ The Kirigakure blend would have made breathing more difficult by now. This was—this was just panic.

The realization closed a tight fist over her heart, and she closed her eyes. The frost kissed her fingertips. This was so stupid. _You're a medic nin. You know nothing's actually wrong._ Deep breaths, deep breaths, like Naruto had told her to do in their first (failed) round of meditation yesterday. Deep breath and focus.

Neji hadn't been there. She didn't want him to come until she was sure she could actually enter her own head, otherwise it would just be a waste of his time. "Sakura-chan, you're hesitating," Naruto had admonished when she'd sighed, frustrated, after an hour of trying and failing to relax herself to a state of attunement.

"Over-patience has never been one of my faults," she'd muttered, but of _course_ she was hesitating. Willingly surrendering to her thoughts was like giving a cheerful thumbs-up to going absolutely mad. She could black out and start attack Naruto like she'd apparently attacked Neji. She could wake up in a swath of her own destruction to match the visions of her village dead and dying.

Naruto had read her face like it was a scroll unsealed to him, but only grinned foxily, whiskers slanting up at the ends. "That's for sure."

"Naruto!"

Crouched in front of the stone, Sakura smiled a little and tried swallowing again as her heart finally slowed its senseless marathon. It still felt like something had glued the folds of her throat together, but safe in the knowledge that she was not, in fact, dying, she raised herself up on stiff knees. Her fingers still tingled and she shook her hands out into the air, flailing like an idiot, before bringing them back and kneading them against her thighs. How long had she been down on the ground? In front of her, the memory of Uchiha Obito was all straight lines and the space in between them. _It was just a little moment._ And no Inner Sakura to speak of or shrink from. Maybe the meditation attempts were already helping.

Something hot crossed her face and it took a moment for her to realize that it was a tear. _I'm not even sad._ It baffled the mind; it was like being twelve again, weeping and fainting at Sasuke's lonely head with Kakashi shaking his own somewhere in the trees. Rolling her eyes at herself, Sakura wiped her face with the back of her hand, looked up at the claws of the trees one more time, and collected herself. Real people were having real problems. Things were happening out in the world. Gaara was fighting to keep his country under control; her sensei was accepting a heavy mantle he didn't want; Sasuke would work off his debt to the village all his life; Naruto was courting Hinata, if at a glacial pace. But it all seemed to be happening apart from her. She was disconnected; Inner Sakura had cut her ties to the real world the first time she'd dropped to the ground during that mission with Shikamaru. She was floating around Konoha, flitting through people's lives like a visiting spirit.

Sakura relaxed her posture—someone was watching. She felt him closing in behind her with even steps, a skill leftover from her time under Yamato, who'd gotten tired of being able to sneak up on her, and honed by brief ANBU training (Neji had been in a hurry to get a qualified medic on his first mission, to assassinate a poisons expert and take his stock) and longer missions. The steps were shuffles. _Shikamaru._ Coming to visit Asuma, or because he'd seen her from his land? He'd cloaked his chakra. _What an ass._

He'd announce himself if he pleased. She flexed her fingers again, working the tingles out one last time. There was too much to _think_ about in a postwar world and too much time to think of it—that was her problem. She'd had a set of goals before, even silly ones, but they'd demarcated distinct periods in her life: to marry Sasuke, to become stronger for both her boys, to become worthy of Tsunade-shishou's teaching, to bring Sasuke back, to help Naruto in whatever way she could, to fight alongside her team, to defeat Kaguya. With the exception of the first (she smiled wryly) her goals had been accomplished. Now all she had to do was help the village maneuver its way in a new world—a nebulous goal if ever there was one. Maybe that was why she felt so transient, so transparent.

Shikamaru was several meters behind her now, and had stopped, and was watching her back. She shook her head and tossed the accusatory words over her shoulder: "You cloaked your chakra."

"Aren't you cold?"

Sakura spun, making tracks in the frost.

Shikamaru sent a lazy half-smile her way and held up his hands as if to ward off an attack, though she'd made no move towards him. "You've been standing there forever."

"You cloaked your chakra," she reproached again, sounding huffier than she'd meant to. "Sneaking up on me?"

He shrugged, not denying it, and put his hands back in his coat pockets as the danger passed. "Testing you, I guess."

She rolled her eyes at him but couldn't really suppress a smile; it had only been a week since they'd parted after the aborted trip to Kumogakure, but when you sleep in the same room with someone in tense conditions, habits sort of make themselves. She'd missed his snide remarks, his verbal strategizing, and his occasional comfort. "I wouldn't put too much faith in testing, Mr. Failed-the-Academy."

"And yet look who passed chuunin before anyone else," he drawled easily, for which she had to concede a point. "Who are you visiting?"

Sakura glanced back at the memorial stone. "No one in particular. Should I leave you to it?"

Shikamaru surveyed the sky with dark eyes and she had the sense the he knew _exactly_ whose name she'd been tracing with her fingers. "No, I can come later." He absently scratched a spot on his arm. He was wearing a thick green coat that suited him well; it seemed to hang off of him just as lazily as he was attached to the earth. "Have you eaten? I'm seeing Ino before she heads out on a mission."

Sakura rolled her lips together, considering it. Had he seen her crouch down in front of the stone, victim to another attack of pointless panic? Had he seen her fingers on the ground? _Stop being stupid._ "I could use a coffee."

He jerked his head back towards the town. "Then let's go."

So simple, and very Shikamaru. _You want it? Then let's go get it._ They walked quietly through sharp air grown lighter as the morning had progressed; Shikamaru wasn't much of a morning talker, as she'd found from their car-sharing. He was, however, a morning thinker—she could almost feel his effort if she tried hard enough. What did geniuses think in the mornings? What had Nara Shikamaru been doing up so early, tracking his lazy ass through the cold, weaving his way past deer and bare-limbed trees to find her at the village monuments?

She bumped him lightly. Her elbow hit his forearm. She had a feeling he'd be very tall if he only stood up straight. "What's your first thought when you wake up?"

"That I'd rather be asleep."

Sakura clicked her tongue. "You had an answer ready for that, didn't you?"

He smiled and said nothing. The village was busier now, with businesses opening and people filling the streets on hurried commutes. A couple genin she recognized from broken arms and bad bruises beat feet towards the gates, late for a mission. As she and Shikamaru passed, some familiar faces smiled and waved—she inclined her head politely, a bit guilty for not remembering most of their names, though they all addressed her as 'Haruno-san.' Working at the hospital put her on everyone's radar, and it'd only gotten worse (or better?) since word of her team's exploits to 'save the goddamn world,' as Naruto put it often and ungraciously, had spread.

The consummate observer noticed. "You're popular."

"It's probably you. Everyone likes a man in earrings."

He sighed. "False modesty doesn't suit you."

"False—!"

Ino, coming the opposite direction, saw them and beamed, saving Shikamaru from the rather rude rejoinder Sakura had planned. "Hey, hey! Two for the price of one, I see." Sakura's friend wrapped her arms around her neck in a half-hug, half-headlock.

"He didn't say anything about price," Sakura teased, tugging on Ino's ponytail. "Does this mean you're treating?"

"Absolutely not," her friend replied. "He owes me more money than I can count. Don't," she added, holding a menacing finger to Shikamaru's face, "make a joke."

Shikamaru sighed again and made it anyway, for which Ino gave him a solid kick in the ass, launching him unceremoniously into the café. Sakura cracked a grin watching them interact. The Ino-Shika-Cho team had always had good balance, even if at the beginning their trio had been forced into compliance by their parents and by Asuma—Team Seven, on the other hand, had always blown up at the touch of a feather, external pressures of conciliation be damned. She wondered briefly how Kakashi had managed them at all.

Breakfast was pleasant and light; Ino talked most of the time, describing her upcoming mission (part espionage, part seduction) in rather lurid hypothetical detail, which made Shikamaru groan and slump on his side of the booth. Sakura quite enjoyed Ino's spiel; it'd been a while since she was on a mission that involved things she was _good_ at as opposed to all the acting and self-restraint she'd had to employ to tiptoe around Matsuo of the Sand, and Ino obviously relished the idea of putting her best skills into play. "I mean, I'm charming enough so that it won't be _too_ hard. But—but!" She elbowed Sakura with a wild-eyed grin. "I'm going with _Shiranui Genma._ He of the dastardly good looks."

Shikamaru put on a doubtful look and Sakura restrained herself from doing the same when he said, "Make sure he doesn't leave your poor unconscious body somewhere to go chasing after someone else."

Ino sniffed. "He wouldn't dare."

"He might," Shikamaru said reasonably. Sakura thought privately that this was a rather low estimation of Genma's loyalty to the village and probably a lower estimation of Ino's semi-maniacal rage when scorned.

"Then it'll be his ass handed to him on a platter," Ino said decisively, plunking her feet on Shikamaru's side of the booth. Sakura recognized the sparkling eyes as a dangerous sign. "Speaking of…"

"Of _what_?"

"Tem-a-ri?"

Sakura perked up as Shikamaru scowled. Was that the faintest blush on his cheeks? Why had she never thought to ask him about this in the caravan car? "All women—"

"—are troublesome," Ino finished, setting down her empty mug and reaching for her coat. "Thought you'd grown out of that particular brand of misogyny."

"It's correlative. I have a bad sample."

"You have a _great_ sample," his teammate said meaningfully, slipping out from next to Sakura. "You just only ever run the test once. They told us at the Academy, that's bad practice."

"I failed the Academy."

Sakura snorted and Ino rolled her eyes rather extravagantly. "I gotta run, you lazy ass. Forehead, we need to figure out your hair."

Sakura found that she was still grinning at Shikamaru's discomfort. "It'll fade soon enough."

"I hope so. I don't even know what to call that color. See you two—wish me luck with Genma." In a flash and a kiss on the cheek Ino was out the door, blonde hair flicking out behind her. Sakura watched her go with a little more lightness than she'd felt earlier. Of all her friends, Ino was the one who stayed constant—a living reminder of what Sakura thought she'd put behind her and was glad she hadn't. And she always came back.

"Damn it," Shikamaru muttered from across the table, still fighting a little red in his cheeks, "she left the bill."

"I'll get it," Sakura said, taking the paper from him quick enough so that her fingers plucked against his. "I got more than my money's worth out of this."

"Let me—"

Sakura held the slip out of his reach. "No, really. People have been doing too much for me lately."

* * *

><p>Sakura-chan, breathe.<p>

Stormclouds over the desert.

Slow and deep, like you're giving your heart room to hold other things.

Dunes that turn gold in the daytime dulled by cloud-covered sun. Storms being born over the horizon hang but are not heavy. The air is cool and light and the wind is at your front, your temples, your hair, a gentle thing, a mother's hand caressing the scalp, a lover's hand fisting at the nape of your neck. Close your eyes and smell rain on the horizon and metal in the ground. The perfume that coins leave in your hand and the taste blood leaves in your mouth.

Feel something tickling the back of your teeth. Open your eyes and you're alone on a dune and the sky roils with frightening life.

Limbs are not weary. No cuts or blemishes or scars. Hands are newly gifted things with ten whole fingers. Eyes see to the ends of the earth. Mouth opens for a kiss and the lips stick together for a moment before blossoming open for the world—they are hesitant to let air out and back in.

There she is. There _she_ is. A figure on the distance outlined in black. Close your eyes and be still, my heart.

Open them again and she's on the dune beside you, standing with you, looking out into the same horizon. Remember that she is yours and you are hers.

Here, her voice is not dark. Here, her voice is yours. Your mouths move in tandem. "You're stuck." We're stuck.

How do you answer yourself? "I know. I feel it." It's true. "I'm wading."

"Waiting?"

There is no correction; you know what you meant. Deep breaths and she's in front of you now, your eyes and your eyes, green and black and white. She says, you say, "You shouldn't have come here."

"I want you to go."

"So you came to meet me?"

It made sense at the time. It makes sense now. The wind blows constantly, a force that can't be turned off. The air is fresh but the ground is money and blood. Blood money. Every kunoichi should have some.

The sky is dark at the corners. Mouth is dry, lips chapped accordingly. The sky warps and shifts and she lifts her hand to touch.

Startled into herself by the movement, Sakura stepped back from the dune, avoiding Inner's fingers. "No—" And then she fell, was falling, one foot off the sand and then both, falling farther than she should into no ground at all.

Shadows.

Strong hands caught her—her own hands caught her. At the bottom of a dark well with no light above Sakura felt frost on her knuckles. _Aren't you cold?_

"Shikamaru."

He was there somewhere, the wisping scent of smoke and a week shared in a caravan car and a lifetime shared in service to thousands. _I am a genius, after all._ Blonde hair and brighter eye. _Forehead._ Ino-pig.

_**They'll die.**_

No.

Shikamaru's shadows wrapped around her arms like Gaara's sand and she was suffused with the power of them. No. No no no.

Sakura-chan?

_**Should have stayed in the desert.**_

A force jerked her away from her place in the earth and spun her to a battleground pockmarked by her own fists. Her mentor stood there, formidable, strong, hands up to keep the fractured blue sky from falling apart. "Sakura, run!"

Sakura-chan!

Running. Running. Feet hitting hard, too hard, breath coming fast. Falling on her knees beside Uchiha Obito's name. Falling on her knees beside all the Uchiha of the world. Falling on her knees in front of her empty clan circle. Falling on her knees to plead for the help of Hyuuga Neji. Falling on her knees to see Sasuke on a ledge above her. Falling on her knees to better see her twelve-year old team.

_Dobe._

_Teme._

_Sasuke-kun!_

Rage boiled in her veins and made her taste blood again. The love in their eyes. _The love in my eyes!_ If she could only—

Sakura-_chan!_

Sharp pain and sharper darkness.

…

…

…

"So I think we got something there, Sakura-chan."

Sakura blinked, wincing at the surprising brightness of an overcast sky. Her brain pulsed against her skull in rebuke. Several things were notable: the pain, the cold, and the absence of nausea. She sat up carefully from the frigid grass, using both hands because her abdominals just weren't cutting it. She took stock: sore muscles, sorer head, and the feeling that she'd just been ripped out of a dream in the middle of her sleep cycle. She was outside of their house, in the thin strip of yard that separated their place from the next. She and Sai had put up a fence last month and the wood still smelled fresh. When she moved her wrist, blinding pain shot through her arm. She hissed. "Ow ow ow." She sure as hell as awake now.

"No kidding."

Sakura looked to her left: horror. Naruto had a bruise blooming on his cheekbone and his eye was blood-red. He was smiling sheepishly. "I might need backup next time we do this."

"Oh god, Naruto, I'm so sorry—" She crawled to him as quickly as she could, given the pain, and immediately channeled chakra to her hands to heal. "What happened?"

"You had it!" He beamed softly, a winter sun. "You absolutely had it. And then—you got kind of trembly and scary-looking, your face was closed up and angry." He winced when she put a hand over his eye and she felt the wince at the base of her own throat. "I tried to touch you and you punched me—" He laughed, he was actually laughing—"Like you always do, except this time you didn't hold back, and I think if I hadn't been in Sage mode I would have gone through the fence."

"Don't laugh!" she said, unable to keep a certain amount of hysteria out of her voice as she finished with his eye. That she had hurt him and not known it—that she hadn't pulled her punch—"That's horrible, I'm _so sorry_. This is why—this whole thing is such a bad idea."

"I dunno, it seemed okay for a little while." Naruto let her poke and prod and obediently moved his eye to the right and left when she pointed thusly. "It was only when I tried to touch you that you started going all—" The future Hokage wiggled his fingers in some kind of gesture symbolizing weird juju—"angry-face."

Sakura frowned and turned her chakra to her own wrist, whose ache seemed appropriate now that she knew she'd punched him. "I didn't use any chakra to hit you," she noted, repairing unfortunate tendons. "Otherwise I wouldn't be hurt—and you would have gone through the fence, Sage or no, unless you dodged. How did I wake up?"

Naruto rubbed the back of his head, still sitting cross-legged on the grass and looking sheepish. His breath clouded the air in front of him. "I, um, forced chakra into you. Hard. Sorry! I figured that if it was like a genjustsu…"

Ire rose in her. "Don't you apologize to _me_. I hurt you. And it worked, anyway."

He shook his head like he hadn't even noticed the pain. "You healed me, and even if you hadn't, it would have taken care of itself before long. Did you see anything?"

She rested back on her heels. "It wasn't as violent this time. Just frightening. And I saw—I saw her, actually, for the first time since this has started. In front of me and then next to me. I think wherever I was at first—that's her place. In my head." She couldn't help but let out a low chuckle at Naruto's panicked look. "I know it's weird. It was a desert." _And there was no Sasuke. There was no Sasuke punching a hole through me. _That had been a rather nice change of pace.

"She doesn't—there is no Inner Sakura, though," he said seriously. "Not like there's a Kurama."

Sakura toyed with a blade of grass made stiff with cold. When she tried to tie a knot in it, it broke in half; she threw the scraps at Naruto and one stuck satisfyingly on his lip. "I don't know that it makes much difference," she said honestly. "I mean, yes, there is the kyuubi sealed in you, and it's—he's—different from you. Separate. But for all intents and purposes, Inner is also a different entity. I interact with her like you interact with the kyuubi. Except she's much less pleasant," she added, smiling ruefully to get him to laugh again.

Naruto didn't look quite convinced, but stood up in a fluid movement and offered her a hand, which she took gratefully. Her head still echoed with dull throbs. "I guess you'll ask Neji to come next time, then?"

"I think so." It had been so different this time—maybe if she'd let Inner touch her, she wouldn't have gone berserk? Maybe there was something about Naruto's external stimulation that had altered the cycle of her chakra? "He'll be able to see how it changes."

They walked inside, leaving imprints of their bodies on the ground in the form of bent grasses. Sakura felt her body tingle and thaw when Naruto opened the door; it was blessedly warm inside, and stepping past the doorframe took a little of the edge off of her headache. Her parents might not have been too pleased about her move into this house with her boys—they were conservatives at heart—but it was the best decision she'd ever made. This was a place she could claim as her own.

"What were you two morons doing out there?"

Sakura stilled. Sai was there, feeding wood into the furnace of their sitting room with practiced ease, black eyes turned curiously on his two housemates. Typically, Naruto fumbled. "Oh! Sakura-chan and I… we were… um, so there's this…_thing_. Ahh..."

Fleetingly, Sakura wondered how in the world Tsunade and Kakashi were going to prepare this knucklehead for the highest office in the village. His diplomacy was seriously lacking. "I'm having a problem with my chakra, and Naruto's helping me meditate," she said as flippantly as she could, closing the door and sealing off the flow of outside cold.

"Your chakra?" Sai looked surprised. She sent a questioning look at him. Shrugging, he reached into the flames of the furnace and adjusted a log too quickly to be burned; it fell into place with a shower of sparks and an eager embrace of flames. "Your behavior recently has suggested a different sort of ailment."

Naruto, still posted awkwardly by the door, immediately looked nervous; Sakura felt the beginnings of a very familiar irritation with Sai's emotional diagnoses in the pit of her belly. "Oh?"

Sai watched her shed her jacket and throw it on the kitchen chair that was de facto reserved for such purposes. "You have been quieter," he listed, "and slower to anger, and slower to smile. You have been eating less and going out on your own much more frequently, which shows a hesitance to be with company and reduced appetite, which is unusual for you. You usually lecture us about biology and whatever news comes out of the hospital during the nights—recently you merely listen to Naruto speak, which is indicative of a reduced interest in things that generally pique your curiosity." He licked his lips. "All of these symptoms lead to a diagnosis of clinical depression or some similar mental disorder. Using meditation to alleviate a disorder would point to general anxiety. Perhaps some degree of post-traumatic stress."

Sakura watched as, perturbed, Naruto pointed at Sai. "H-hey, don't say those things about Sakura-chan! She's fine!"

She felt distinctly _not_ fine. During Sai's speech, her anger had vanished; in its place was a trickling emptiness that seemed to curl around the lining in her stomach. Sai was looking at her, waiting for a reaction; she could only just smile at him a little bit and move to the stove, suddenly very intent on proving his comment about her appetite wrong. "You might be right, Sai. You did good research." Her hands on the pot trembled a little. "It's called anhedonia—that loss of enjoyment."

"Anhedonia." Sai tasted the word, nodded, and stood up from the fire. He crossed to the kitchen and stood behind her, a looming shadow. "What are you making?"

"Oh…" She didn't know. "Cocoa, I think. Cocoa sounds good. Would you like some?"

"I do!" Naruto piped up from behind. Sai nodded.

"Okay." She put the pot on the stove and blinked at it. What was the matter with her? She couldn't think straight. Did they even have cocoa?

Calmly, with that permanent smile affixed, Sai took milk from the refrigerator and reached over her head to take the box from the cabinet above the stove. "Here."

"Sugar, too."

He handed her the bag. "Whatever I can do to help," he said. When she looked at him, he was still smiling, and his eyes were open.

She felt herself smiling back.

* * *

><p>Shikamaru was, predictably, laying on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Rather less predictably, he was thinking of Haruno Sakura.<p>

It bothered him more than a little.

He had a picture in mind: of her in a thick red coat, framed by her own door, facing him with a little smile and a little surprise. "It's okay," she'd said. He'd walked her home after their breakfast with Ino out of a sense of chivalrous obligation drilled into him from years of tedious clan events, and because she'd paid for him, besides. And finally, after the little tiptoeing around the subject he could stand, he'd asked her rather awkwardly how she was faring with her episodes of panic. "It's okay," she'd said. "It's not our secret anymore—I went off on Neji during the mission, after Arashi killed your clone, during an, um, attack. He had to knock me out. So he knows. And I told Kakashi-sensei as part of the mission report—had to explain why I broke Matsuo's wrists and blacked out. And the Kazekage—" She'd sighed, looking at her hands in her pockets as if they were the source of her irritation. "You were right, he knew as soon as the sand went back to him. And _he_ told Naruto under the impression that Naruto should know, and could help."

He'd let out a low whistle. "So much for being discrete."

"I had a kunai at Neji's throat," she'd said wryly. "Hard to be discrete after that."

He chuckled at the image. "I bet that startled even our immovable Hyuuga. I did wonder why he was manhandling you when you had no clothes on," he'd added without thinking. Her subsequent blush annoyed him. "How has Naruto helped?"

She'd put on a face. "I can't get a handle on meditating yet. But when I do, I think he and Neji will both be helpful."

"'And Neji?'"

"Byakugan." She tapped her head. "He's going to check up on what my chakra's doing while I'm in a—a hallucination, or whatever they are. Tsunade-shishou thinks I'll be able to access them by choice if I meditate, so he'll be able to see it in real time. And," she added on an afterthought, "he's probably much better at teaching meditation than Naruto."

He'd shrugged, but something uncomfortable had been happening in his chest. "Don't try to slice him again. He's one of our better ANBU captains."

She'd laughed and they'd parted ways. But now, thinking about it again, he felt himself frowning, disappointed at his own lack of persistence. He'd told her he'd help her, after all.

Her episodes had become routine for him during their time with Matsuo's caravan. They'd been a shared difficulty, something he'd pledged himself to. He didn't do that lightly, make promises to act. And now there appeared to be no need to occupy himself with Haruno Sakura's anxiety. The family was involved. Hyuuga Neji was involved.

Something had happened during the mission when, forced into proximity, he and Sakura had experienced her horrors together. A door had been cracked open through which he'd glanced a raw wound, a flashing green eye, a trembling hand squeezing the one that he'd extended to her side of the caravan car.

_Tem-a-ri,_ Ino had teased. Well, he hadn't seen Temari in months until she'd barely glanced at him when they'd gone to debrief the Kazekage upon completing the mission. A lot of things had ceased since the war, and his communication with her had been one of them. _Maybe that was a mistake._

"Tch." This was inane, cyclical, 'what-if' thinking. He didn't stand for it. Communication was a two-way exercise, and she'd never initiated anything, either. If things worked out with Temari, good. Fine. He'd liked her and would like her again, if she was interested in giving it another go. If.

A memory of her hand high up on his leg one soft night in Sunagakure, soft and unbidden and creating a surge in him that had for once left him completely bereft of thought, had him swearing out loud.

Shikamaru wasn't stupid and he wasn't a fan of self-denial. He knew what this was: he was attracted to Haruno Sakura. It wasn't a new thing, either—if he was being completely honest with himself (and why wouldn't he be?) he'd casually enjoyed her presence since before the war. She was smart and bright and aggressive enough to hold her own; they'd taken enough missions together to become friends. She was not conventionally pretty and certainly didn't hold a candle to the flaxen hair and long legs of his female teammate, but then, she was gorgeous in a fierce, strong-jawed, on-second-thought sort of way. He admired her. And during the course of the Matsuo mission, he'd grown to care for her more than he'd anticipated.

_Too quickly for only a week's work. _But Sakura's hand in his in the midnight blackness had been a sure thing. Temari's hand on him in the desert twilight had been a promise. He'd promised Sakura offhandedly: _I am a genius, after all._ Something to make her laugh. Something to follow up on when he got home.

What was he thinking? There was no progression to this.

Frustrated, he sat up from the floor and pinched the bridge of his nose. Haruno Sakura and whatever was in her head had infected his, as well. He wanted to know what was happening with her. He wanted to understand her changes. It was a puzzle he could solve if only he was given the chance. When he tried to conjure up the feeling of Temari's hand on his thigh again, for her lips near his ear, he saw Sakura's hand in the dark. Her fingers scrabbling against his to grab the bill at breakfast. Her straight back and slouched smile in front of her own personal doorframe.

Giving up for the moment, he let his thoughts veer into dangerous corners. Sakura healing Naruto during the war and screaming encouragement, her hair rising like Akamaru's hackles and her face lit greenly from below, giving her the look of a god or spirit. He'd smiled then, without really knowing why. Sakura turning in the frost and grinning to see him only this morning. Running back from her covert meeting with Sai and Neji before they'd gotten to the Land of Hot Water, cheeks red from exertion and good news. A long time ago, turning from the door of Naruto's room in the hospital, not caring that Shikamaru was there, making her teammate a promise of her own. Slumped naked against another form, eyebrows contracted in pain or anger, all the planes and curves of her body white in the moonlight but for Hyuuga Neji's arm, black-clad, supporting her around the waist like he'd been kissing her. But he'd been disarming her instead.

If it was chakra that was the problem, why did it start affecting her now? Why hadn't Tsunade suffered from hallucinations and panic as effects of the seal on her forehead?

Sakura's hand high on his thigh and moving higher? A whisper—'_Shika-san_' at his ear, on his neck? If she was here in her heavy coat, standing in his own personal doorway, a small smile on her face. He could kiss her to see those lips part again, small lips, smiling mouth. Divest of the coat and what do you have? Strip away outer layers and what do you see? He could get to the bottom of things.

No. He only had a crack in the door. He was trying to piece her together from flashes.

Shikamaru groaned, unable to stand himself any longer, and stood to go outside. The cold would do him good.

* * *

><p>Sasuke was at the door. Sai thought Sakura should know.<p>

"Sasuke is at the door."

Sakura looked up from her perch on the window seat, eyebrows raised at him over a paperback. Her mug of cocoa was cradled by the book and the curve of her stomach. It would have made a good sketch. He could title it—she always wanted him to title his work—The Skeptical Medic. She blinked at him a couple times. "Are you going to let him in?" The tone read: _Let him in, you dolt._

From his position over the saucepan of cocoa, Naruto was frozen. "Sakura-chan?"

Sai wasn't entirely sure, still, how to classify Sakura's feelings towards her original third teammate. Ever since the beginning she'd shone that fake smile at the mention of his name and taken no quarter in defending him (how could he forget the first taste of her fists?). Years later, she now kept the fake smile but hardly mentioned his name, even though they sparred and saw each other frequently enough. He knew it signified some manner of change, but he wasn't sure what kind.

Naruto gave Sai a rather pleading look, but he didn't really want to bother deciphering it. He opened the door.

As usual, Sasuke gave him only a passing nod in greeting as he swept inside. "Dobe," he muttered quietly in Naruto's direction.

"Sasuke-teme," Naruto replied, a little more hesitantly than usual. "What are you doing here?"

In response, Sasuke's flat-faced gaze swiveled to his right, where Sakura was flipping a page. "I thought you were on a mission."

She looked up at him with a smile and Sai recognized it immediately. "It finished a little early. Hi, Sasuke."

Sasuke looked away almost as soon as she spoke, taking them all in. Sai was very aware that he and his housemates made a portrait of domesticity: various jackets in red, orange, and black were slung over the back of the kitchen chair; some of his drawings hung on the wall and an abysmal sketch of Sakura Naruto had done when he was drunk one night was taped to the refrigerator; Sakura had her hitai-ate resting on her thigh and her hair loose around her shoulders, Naruto was barefoot, and Sai was at the door like a guardian. Was it his imagination, or did Sasuke shift his weight from one foot to the other, as if in discomfort? "I came to spar," he said, turning his attention to Naruto again. "Training ground 32."

Naruto swallowed. "Don'tcha love the way he _asks nicely?_ It's late, Sasuke. Tomorrow."

Sasuke smirked and Sai saw Sakura's lips quirk. Silence stretched thin—Sasuke was evidently trying to silently bully Naruto into sparring anyway—until the sharp sound of Sakura closing her book had all three boys looking at her. Sai saw her eyes glimmer. She appeared to have made a decision. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" she asked.

Both Naruto and Sasuke looked utterly floored by this idea.

Sakura, undeterred but looking a little nervous nonetheless, stood up from her place on the window seat. "I was going to start cooking soon, unless these idiots were planning on showcasing yet-unknown domestic talents." She shrugged. "There'll be plenty."

Sasuke frowned at her. "No." He caught himself. "Thank you. I—"

"Don't be a bastard," Naruto said with good cheer, smiling fully at Sakura. "'S not like you have plans. Sakura-chan, I'll help you."

Sakura crossed into the kitchen, leaving her book and brushing past Sasuke with businesslike efficiency. "I won't poison you, I promise."

Sasuke looked annoyed at this. "I wasn't—" Sai saw him cast a look at Naruto as if seeking some kind of support; Naruto only raised his eyebrows in a challenging sort of way. "Okay. Okay." Sasuke dawdled for a moment having made his decision, unsure what to do with his bulk.

Sai decided to throw him off more and gave him the smile that Sakura called his creepiest. "Make yourself at home, Sasuke-kun."

Sasuke looked like he could gladly incinerate him. No matter. Sai swept into the kitchen to help the Hag. He had a feeling she might need it.

After about seven minutes, which was apparently how long it took Sasuke to put his poncho away, the last Uchiha entered the kitchen as if it was his own tomb. Naruto was chattering away about nothing, waiting for water to boil, and Sakura was listening with one ear while cutting carrots and scallions. Sai had been put in charge of cubing tofu. His squares were perfect.

"Ehh, Sasuke, did you hear that Kakashi-sensei's going to be the next Hokage?"

Sai perked up as Sakura slammed her knife down. "Naruto! That's supposed to be private information."

"It's just these two," the idiot said with a shrug. "They'll find out soon enough."

After a moment, Sasuke snorted. "Kakashi? The Elders will hate him."

Sakura smirked. "Maybe it's Tsunade-shishou's revenge for all the shit they've given her." She resumed chopping and Naruto dropped fish stock into the pot. "I don't know, I think he'll do a good job. Sai, can you toss the noodles in?"

He did so, following her instructions quite literally, and Naruto yelled when boiling water splashed on his arm. Sakura clucked her tongue and hip-checked Naruto out of the way, sending him stumbling back and whining. Sasuke was staring at them like they all had four heads. And Sai felt the strangest urge to laugh.


	11. (attempted) ontology

A/N: Yo, readers! This is one of the longest chapters so far (although they've all been pretty consistent between 7000-8000 words) but anyway ENJOY! I'm super happy with all the positive reviews this has been getting and all I can do is say thank you SO much to those who do write back. I promise I'll respond to you individually before the next chapter comes out, but I'm traveling at the moment, so a new chappy is about all I can muster at the moment.

One thing I haven't addressed re: the ending is whether or not Sasuke and Naruto both have arms. I'm, um, pretty sure it doesn't matter for the purposes of this story, so although it was a beautiful chapter in the manga, you can just assume it didn't happen. (Or that it did and they both have prosthetics and it's nbd.)

One last note regarding this chapter: it's in all-Neji POV. All Neji, all the time. Just for fun, and to see how much of a story you can tell through a very observant but very repressed narrator. Let me know how it works!

Please do review! I love love love 'em.

* * *

><p><strong>eleven: (attempted) ontology<strong>

The day of the Rokudaime Hokage's inauguration was bright and cold, and the entire village was clustered in the streets with coats, cloaks, and smiles; from his vantage point on the roof of a nearby warehouse Neji watched the throng move in unified purpose towards Hokage Tower, where Tsunade had set up (or rather, had had Izumo and Kotetsu set up) a roughly-hewn wooden podium. Civilians and shinobi flocked together, hitai-ate and teeth gleaming in pale winter sunlight. The sky was a sharp sort of blue. In Konoha winters all colors were more vivid for their starkness.

He saw visitors from out of town, as well, apparently honored guests: people he recognized from the war, though he couldn't remember where they came from or even their names. He'd stuck with the Konoha battalion for most of the fighting, anyway, until he was taken officially Out of Commission by the hole in his chest. It took him a moment and a double-take, but he did recognize Kankurou, who stood without face paint to the left of the podium, arms crossed, talking to someone from Kumo. Suna could apparently only spare one of the Sand trio; Temari and Gaara were undoubtedly still cleaning up the mess the daimyo created.

Swinging his eyes to the right, Neji saw Hanabi and her mother standing behind Hinata and his uncle, all of them decked in traditional Hyuuga-approved attire in neutral colors. Hinata smiled at something Hanabi said, but her eyes were scanning the crowd. _Looking for Naruto, no doubt._ Nearly everyone in the street was muffled and layered for the coldest Konohagakure winter in living memory, but Uzumaki's shock of blonde hair stuck out as much for its color in the sun as for the height of the head attached to it. Neji noticed, for the first time, really, that Naruto was tall. Perhaps taller than him. At the blonde's left shoulder was a familiar spray of petal-pink.

Team Seven shone in the sun as they approached the podium where Tsunade stood, waiting for the crowd to settle. Sakura wore her thick red coat, but fitted black pants and heeled boots poked out from beneath it, and she'd parted her hair to the side and clipped it there with pins, a new development that somehow softened her face. Sai and Sasuke were both in black, and the last Uchiha wore his crest proudly—gaudily, but that was Neji's own clan bias talking—on the back of a cloak, nicer than the tatty poncho he'd taken to wearing for whatever reason. Yamato had traded in his standard-issue vest for a gray Western-style overcoat. The crowd parted for them, or at least seemed to. The Chosen Ones. The bridge between the gods and the men. This was their day perhaps as much as Kakashi's.

(Neji pondered for a moment whether or not he felt bitterness towards them, the Golden Trio et al, and decided that he didn't. It was curious that no one among the Konoha Eleven seemed to resent their fame or envy their abilities, but then again it wasn't—everyone who knew enough to know the reasons behind the renown and the talent felt well-served in not being on Team Seven. Golden or Chosen, yes, but also somehow cursed. Not with death, as their predecessors had been, but perhaps with living, which was an entirely heavier load.)

Sasuke lurked at the back of the group, following closely in Sakura's footsteps, his eyes darting. No doubt crowds irritated him after years of solitude, but he needn't have worried; villagers shied away as he passed. Even his fellow shinobi stepped tactfully to the side, congratulated Sakura and Naruto and gave only a vague nod to the village's freest criminal. Lee, for one, greeted everyone _but_ Sasuke with particular vigor; Chouji smiled uncomfortably when their eyes met. Sai just grinned with crinkled corners, which seemed to make Sasuke's shoulders stiffen all the more. Yamato frequently looked between them with concern. Neji could almost see him considering standing between them so as to prevent bloodshed.

Hinata had spotted Naruto and, smiling shyly, she raised her hand in a little wave; Naruto immediately adopted his careless head-scratching laugh, waving back and looking a little…nervous? Neji felt himself frowning behind his mask and made himself look elsewhere, scanning the crowd with Byakugan as he was meant to do as ANBU security. It was the only mission he had been assigned since a paltry search-and-rescue a week ago; he suspected his uncle's doing and bristled whenever he walked past Hokage Tower, missionless. He'd go to the new Rokudaime later and ask for something else, something that would actually occupy him—Hiashi wouldn't be as deep into Kakashi's ear as he had been in Tsunade's. Even today, Neji was only in charge of security for the official announcement, a one-hour job. He was 'free,' as the almost-ex-Hokage had put it, immediately afterwards. That, at least, was _definitely_ his uncle's doing. All the clan had to make an appearance at events like these, and Hiashi had already quite pointedly ordered someone set the right clothing at his door in the complex.

Were Hinata and Naruto not… dating? The thought made him grimace on reflex, but it was something he'd long ago realized he'd have to get used to. They'd seemed to grow closer after the war, and everyone had suspected a courtship of sorts, but that closeness had apparently come to a point. Another quick glance to the front row showed Neji that Naruto stayed attached at the hip to his pink-haired teammate, who was now assailing him with one extremely skeptical eyebrow. Sakura, too, it seemed, had noticed Naruto's halfhearted reaction to the elder Hyuuga sister.

Or maybe _she_ and Naruto were together? It seemed impossible that either of them would have been able to keep it a secret, but then, they did live together. _With Sai._ Neji had a rather disturbing flash of insight into how Sai might react to people having sex in his house (note: _curiously_). Well, maybe they weren't together, then. But they were significantly closer to each other than Hinata and Naruto seemed to be.

"Hokage-sama is about to begin," his taichou's voice sounded into his ear. "Keep eyes on the podium. We'll cover the crowd."

_Stop pondering your cousin's tepid romances. _He did as both his mind and his taichou ordered, watching closely as Tsunade began speaking. Her voice boomed over the crowd with no need for amplification. It was a little unorthodox to have such a ceremony surrounding the establishment of the next Hokage—speeches and celebrations and whatnot—but Tsunade-hime was never one to follow tradition, and Neji guessed that the festivities were as much in celebration of a peaceful year as for a peaceful transfer of power. Hatake Kakashi stood behind her, clad rather disappointingly as he usually was, bereft only of his orange book. At least he had his hands out of his pockets.

"I am inestimably proud," Tsunade was saying clearly, "of this village. We could not have reached where we are now, or endure what we have had to endure, without the work and camaraderie and spirit of every single person in this village—civilian and shinobi, all have a part to play in making Konohagakure the most powerful and successful hidden village in the known world, and I thank you for it." Cheers, predictably—Tsunade put her hand up to silence them, but they rang on for seconds more. Neji saw Naruto and Kiba practically howling together. _Idiots_. The visiting delegations looked a little put off.

"Honestly, a Kage has very little to do with the success of a village," she continued. "We organize and administrate, we act as representatives and advocates of our people, we arrange defenses against those who would incur our wrath and offenses against those who already have." Laughter. Tsunade was smiling, too. "But I will say frankly that it is a grueling job. Not just because Konoha, great as it is, has more than its fair share of idiots, but also because Hokage see _every_thing. The sacrifices, the sadness, the loss—broken bones and hearts, fractured families, generations and reincarnations that carry a deep, dark, unshakeable melancholy. In this way, I suppose it's the most broken among us that become good Hokage, good leaders. Because we know what it's like to have to stitch ourselves up with dirty thread and a bone needle. Because we are weak enough, or strong enough, to hold love for each and every member of the village, and to feel each and every pang and pain amongst you.

"Hatake Kakashi has been chosen unanimously to shoulder this burden. You know him, if you know him, as one of the strongest, wisest, and most capable shinobi in our village. But a select few, and I honor myself to count as among them, know him also as capable of great love and expansive care. This is not the first time he will have the job of unifying the impossibly different—" On reflex, Neji looked at the front row again, where he saw tears in Sakura's eyes and Naruto's mouth quavering and a tan hand resting unacknowledged on Sasuke's shoulder. "—or doing the dirtiest work, or making the toughest decisions. I have unparalleled faith in his ability to—well, not to lead you, because that's not quite what a Hokage does—but to join you in the watch over this village."

Kakashi looked rather wary at this description of his abilities. Standing with hands clasped in front of him and his feet spread shoulder-width apart, he resembled a soldier waiting to be dispatched. Neji found himself returning his eyes to Team Seven. Sakura had her arms linked with Sai and Naruto's and was smiling tearfully up at Yamato, who grinned gently back.

"We've had a tough couple of years," Tsunade continued after applause, "to put it mildly. But we are in a time of peace at the moment, so I beg you to enjoy it. Today's celebrations are for you—not for this ass soon to be my successor," she added, snatching back her usual snappiness to the laughter of the crowd. After a moment, she smiled again, red lips bright on a face made brighter for the wind. "I thank you all for allowing me the honor of being your Hokage. I did my best and I can only hope that it was enough."

"You were great, baa-chan!"

Against his will, Neji chuckled; but Naruto, as was his style, made the crowd erupt with cheers and whistles and more applause. If such was a thing was possible, Tsunade blushed. "One of our resident idiots," she yelled, to more laughter. When it quieted, she flipped a pigtail behind her. "Hatake, come here."

Kakashi approached with the same shuffling gait he used to propel himself around the village, and Neji almost shook his head—the man was a genius, but it was hard to imagine him taking on all the prestige, all the responsibility. Being Hokage was a family game, a lineage. Hatake had famous family, but he was undoubtedly his own man.

But when Tsunade swung the cloak around his shoulders and affixed the hat on his silver mop, Hatake Kakashi looked rather more regal than Neji had thought possible. Straight-backed and stiff-shouldered, Kakashi rolled his arms back and adjusted his mask. His eyes were black and crinkled a bit at the corners as the crowd erupted into cheers again. Sakura was actually jumping up and down, giddy as a thirteen-year-old, bringing Naruto and Sai's shoulders with her. Her hair glinted in the sun.

Kakashi held up both his hands for silence. "You'll all be tired of me soon enough," he called, in a voice much less loud than Tsunade's, "but I think the first order of business is to thank the Godaime for her time and her effort. This woman moves mountains for us."

Kakashi put his hands together and bowed—deeply, respectfully, with complete honor and surrender to the woman in front of him. Tsunade gave a "chuh" sound and waved her hand dismissively, putting a brave face on it, but Neji saw that face change when the crowd, row by row, bowed with the new Rokudaime. It was like watching dominos fall; one by one, Konohagakure folded itself, in some cases even falling on its knees, in gratitude and relief and love for the woman who had been destined for the job since the beginning—for the princess who'd gambled and for once won.

Tsunade seemed cowed by this expression of fealty and appreciation, but she smiled brilliantly nonetheless and returned the bow, her own coat brushing the floor of the podium. And so all of Konoha, with the exception of their sworn guardians on the rooftops, turned their faces to the ground, commiserating with and sending love to all those who lay beneath it.

Then the fireworks went off, a series of shocking bursts of color and light that put the city back to life, to motion. Neji took out his transmitter and used the rooftops to make his way back to the Hyuuga compound. No sense in letting time, however it be wasted, slip past him.

* * *

><p>Neji saw his cousins by a dango vendor, chatting amiably with each other under the sun. Hinata seemed rather surprised to see him in full regalia, but her smile was brilliant. "Neji! I thought you were doing security?"<p>

"My responsibilities have been abbreviated," he answered, letting Hanabi hug him briefly. He didn't miss Hinata's pleased smile, but she'd didn't much try to hide it. "So you're to blame for my boredom, then?"

With wide, innocent eyes: "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Hanabi snorted. "You're the worst liar I've ever met in my entire life."

"You've yet had a short life," Neji retorted for Hinata's benefit, tugging Hanabi's hair, but then fixed the elder sister with a frown. "But she's right. You've gone to Hiashi on my behalf?"

"Neji," Hinata began patiently, rummaging in her pocket for coins, "you're overworking yourself. I've seen too many charts with your name on them in the hospital. And Sakura—she's too easy on you. Here, get three," she told Hanabi, pooling coins in her sister's hand.

Neji scowled. "I don't want—"

"Don't be so moody," Hanabi chided.

"Here," he said, plucking coins from his pocket and thrusting them at her, "at least let me pay."

She rolled her eyes—"That's not as gallant as you think it is"—but took the money anyway.

Neji felt rather like he was being scolded by a pair of mothers as he watched Hanabi march to the line curving in front of the stand. "How in the world is Haruno 'too easy' on me?"

Hinata flicked her eyes—always prettier than his, all cool and lavender—up to his own. "She lets you leave when you shouldn't. She trusts you to know your limits. So does Tsunade-sama."

"And you do not? Trust me?" The scent of frying food and sharp spices and sugar spiked the air, and he felt foolish for arguing on a day like today. But the lack of activity—of real, meaningful missions—had left him groping and irritated. He couldn't think of a time Haruno Sakura or the Godaime had ever been 'easy' on him; if anything, they worked their hardest to keep him bedbound after a mission. And they _should_ trust him to know his limits; he wasn't made an ANBU captain for being careless.

"Neji, please." He regretted his anger as soon as he met Hinata's gaze again. She looked pleading. "I do trust you. I just don't think you're thinking quite… clearly. Oh—" She suddenly blushed a pale red and looked down at her feet; Neji didn't have to think hard about the cause when he heard familiar voices behind him.

"…and he had his mask on for the whole damn ceremony. Do you think it'll be on the carving, too?"

"I don't know… I'm starting to think he doesn't have a face at all under there."

"It is not a very effective mask. I am sure that in the right lighting one could decipher any important features, and it has become as much a marker for his identity as any strange blemish could have been."

"Sai, that's not the _point_—"

"Hinata!" Sakura's trill cut cleanly through whatever Naruto was trying to say; she immediately launched at his cousin with a hug, which was returned with strength. Neji started. When had they gotten so close? All those hours at the hospital together, perhaps.

"Hey, Neji," Naruto greeted him with an easy grin, sporting a little blush of his own. "Nice getup." Sai waved absently and Sasuke was scanning the crowd quite dispassionately; Yamato was absent, apparently having found better things to do than keep his sometimes-team from ripping one another's throats out.

Neji couldn't help countering: Naruto, being Naruto, was wearing a bright blue fleece. "I see you toned down the neon for this occasion."

"What's that supposed to—"

"It means you're a signal flare," Sasuke muttered, quirking an eyebrow in Naruto's direction.

"Teme—"

"You're all such children," Sakura scowled. "Hi, Neji," she added suddenly, sending a smile in his direction. He nodded in response, wondering at her good mood. Maybe it was just the day. Next to her, Hinata was smiling in pale greeting to all of them.

Sasuke, who looked a little affronted at being lowered to the same level of maturity as the blonde beside him, made some kind of noise with his teeth and turned back to the crowd, stepping deftly to avoid Hanabi, who was skipping back with sticks of dango in hand. "Sakura-nee!"

_What?_ Had Haruno infiltrated the Hyuuga compound when he wasn't looking? He tried not to take the stick of dango Hanabi was forcing upon him, but when she made to put it straight in his mouth dignity won out and he swiped it, sending her a dirty glare.

"Hanabi-chan, hey! That smells delicious. Does anyone want some besides me?" Sakura pulled out her wallet.

"I'll get some for you, Sakura-chan," Naruto blurted. "I owe you for groceries."

Neji saw Sakura cast a wary eye over to Hinata, who was admirably quick to cover up her crestfallen expression. _He's an idiot._ "No need," he found himself saying, holding his dango out to Sakura in offering. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh." She blinked. "Thank you! Are you sure?"

"I would not have offered if I wasn't sure," he said. "Here."

She relieved him of the dango, took a bite at once, and grinned at him. "What a gentleman. Unlike _some._"

"Had I dango to offer, I would have—"

"Sai, you're a liar—"

"Naruto-kun," Hinata warbled softly, "Would you like to get some ramen? Ichiraku has specials today."

For a moment, everyone's heads swiveled towards his cousin, equally astonished at her boldness; even Sasuke, who'd been making it clear that he wanted no part in their mutual idiocy, flicked a glance her way. Hinata's blush deepened, and Neji found himself willing her not to do something silly, like faint.

"Uh, Hinata-chan! That sounds… that'd be…" Naruto appeared to have trouble forming sentences.

For her part, Sakura seemed to swallow a piece of dango whole in her rush to get words out. "Oh—Hanabi-chan—did you want to show me that technique you've been practicing?"

Hanabi lit up. "Yes! Yeah, I'd love to!"

"I would like to see, as well," Neji said, eyeing Naruto with as much threat as he could muster.

Sasuke appeared to mutely sigh. "I'm going to see Kakashi."

"I will come with you. It is customary to express congratulations at times like these," Sai said neutrally, but Neji caught a flicker of ill intent in Sasuke's eyes.

"Great! So we'll meet up later," Sakura said, patting Naruto rather forcefully on the back. "I'll see you all for drinks after the fireworks, yeah? Let's go, Hanabi." She steered the younger girl away with aplomb, flashing a wave and a smile back to her gang.

"See you, Hag," Sai called from behind them.

Neji chuckled and Sakura rolled her eyes at him, releasing Hanabi's shoulders. They wound their way through the teeming crowd, Hanabi in the lead. "When did you come to be so familiar with my cousins?" Neji asked after a moment.

Sakura's lips parted in an expression of mild surprise. "Well, I've been friendly with Hinata forever, and when she started working at the hospital we just got closer. Hanabi-chan here is a special case, though." She grinned cheekily at his younger cousin. "Care to tell the story?"

Hanabi sighed, brushing past an older man to squeeze between two food carts on the side of the street. "It's so embarrassing," she complained, "but don't judge me for it, Neji."

"I promise nothing," he said, and Sakura laughed; Hanabi kicked back at him, which he adroitly dodged. They emerged into a clearing of sorts behind the shops, where errant blades of dead grass and a familiar pattern of churned-up dirt told him that Lee and Gai-sensei had probably sparred before. The sight had him smiling.

"I was practicing the Kaiten," Hanabi said woefully through the last of her dango, moving into the form for it, dropping her center of gravity, "and I was in some far-off training ground, I don't know which one, and I was by myself, and _I know_ that's dumb, don't give me that look—" She started spinning slowly, demonstrating the movement. "—and anyway I was about halfway through, getting to that tricky bit where you sort of twirl your ankles—" Neji chuckled; it had been so long since there were any 'tricky bits' in Kaiten for him to conquer, but he remembered well the constant frustration of not being able to do it perfectly. Sakura had a widening smile. "And this—this _thing_ popped out of the ground right underneath me and I freaked _out_ because I hadn't sensed it, and I stumbled, and _crack_—there went the ankle. And then the thing exploded and I was flung back like twenty feet and c_rack—_there was the other ankle." Hanabi sighed.

Sakura dissolved into peals of laughter. "You're not saying the best part!" she said, and turned to Neji. "No, look—the thing in the ground was one of Sai's ink animals. We were sparring not far away and he'd planted them, little burrowing things—moles or something. And he'd attached chakra-sensitive exploding tags to them."

"He was expecting you to punch the ground—" Neji chuckled again. It was a smart move, but then, Sai was ex-ROOT, and familiar with Sakura's fighting style of unearth-and-destroy.

"—and get blown back, yeah." Sakura looked fondly at Hanabi, folding her arms. "But we hadn't gotten to that area yet, and I was right in the middle of disarming him—"

"Yeah, right," Hanabi snarled, but she was grinning too, mollified.

"I _was_, you little pest, and you ruined it. Because all of a sudden, my kunai to his throat, this black-and-white blur comes flying at us from the trees and knocks me straight into the ground."

"That was rude of you, Hanabi," Neji said solemnly.

Hanabi laughed and lashed out at him with a purposefully-un-aimed fist. "It was rude of _them!_ Putting land mines in a common training ground, I mean, come on—you're supposed to be jounin—responsible jounin—"

"Being a jounin is at best only weakly correlated with being responsible," Sakura said. "But anyway, that's how we met. Once I regained consciousness, I healed her and helped her to the hospital to get _both_ of us checked for a concussion. I don't think I've ever seen Sai happier after a fight."

"And then Sakura-nee decided she'd teach me a little medical ninjutsu," Hanabi said proudly. "Which is why—check this out." With little drama, his cousin took off her heavy outer robe, took out a kunai, and sliced her arm. Sakura seemed unfazed, but Neji felt something thump in his stomach to see her so freely injure herself. Did that mean she was getting used to pain? That she'd suffered horrible injuries already? _Did I miss that?_

Like Sakura, Hanabi wasn't daunted at the sight of her blood; concentrating, she whispered "Byakugan," and then made hand seals for what he assumed was a healing technique, and pressed a green-glowing hand not to the cut, but to a point beneath it. Neji immediately recognized it as a tenketsu. To his astonishment, the cut began to heal; slowly, searchingly, as if unsure of what it was doing, blood stopped flowing, and the edges of the skin started to knit back together.

"Hanabi-chan!" Sakura actually dropped to her knees, dirtying her slim black pants, and pulled the girl down with her, angling Hanabi's arm so that it was in the light of the sun. The healing was incomplete—the cut still looked red—but that could have been a consequence of Hanabi's beginner's skill. "That's amazing," Sakura breathed. "But it makes sense. If you can see where the chakra's going, you can direct it from an indirect point. So hypothetically, you could heal someone in battle—surface-heal, anyway, so they make it to a medic—with just a touch to a nearby tenketsu."

When Hanabi blushed, she looked much like her sister. "I was just practicing—I like watching when Hinata-nee or you or Tsunade-sama heals, because I can see exactly what you're doing, and how precise it is—but I was wondering if it could be less precise but more effective, or faster, so I just—I kept trying until it worked."

It took no more than a passing glance to notice the thin scars on her arms. Neji frowned deeply. "Yes, I can see that," he said. Hanabi darkened further.

Suddenly, he noticed, Sakura handled Hanabi more carefully; lips together, the pink-haired jounin pushed a loose lock of jet-black from the girl's face. "Well, let's heal this fully, first," she said softly, placing a hand on the new cut. "I'm so proud of you for experimenting and finding this—it's really good work, Hanabi-chan, and shows ambition. But to hurt yourself for the sake of experimentation and not get it healed fully—that's irresponsible."

"I understand. I only—I didn't want to worry Hinata with it, because she'd tell me not to do it."

"I don't think you give your sister enough credit," Sakura said seriously, finishing with Hanabi's arm and standing up straight. She looked at Neji for a moment—just a moment—but it felt disquietingly like she was talking to him, not to his cousin. "She cares very deeply for people, but she's not a fool. She'd recognize what you're trying to do—to work harder, to become stronger. I think Hinata would have understood. And she would have helped. Still," she added, "that's good work. I might tell Tsunade-shishou about it, if you'd like to come with me and demonstrate."

"To the Hokage?" Hanabi's eyes were wide as she got up from her own position on the ground.

"Not the Hokage anymore." Neji smirked at Hanabi. "I am sure that she would want to see it, regardless. You did do well."

"Thanks," Hanabi mumbled. "Well—anyway. I want to go back to the festival, but thanks for coming and watching. And—and thanks." She blinked up at Sakura. "You're one of the coolest kunoichi I've ever met, you know."

With that as a parting shot, Hanabi left them; Sakura watched her go, and Neji saw that she looked a little dazed. "Don't worry," he said. "Hanabi has a gift for hyperbole."

"You ass," she answered automatically. "I was just thinking. She did an amazing thing just there, but clan life does take its toll. I can't believe she…"

She was turning her face to the sun and shaking her hair away. Light hit her jaw like a revelation. He knew she was thinking of the pale scars on Hanabi's arms, and he was, too, but Sakura's words stung for reasons he couldn't quite name. "You are part of a notable clan, as well," he remarked, feeling inexplicably like he had to defend his own.

"Not in the same way." Sakura opened her eyes to the brightness of the sky. "The Haruno are a mixed bag; we're not a traditional shinobi family. We have as many civilians as nin—maybe more, now. I'm not even sure how or when the clan started. And I've only ever interacted with family outside of my parents a couple of times, when I was younger. There isn't such pressure." She shot him a quick look. "Sorry. Sensitive topic, I'd imagine."

"Not any longer." Neji shrugged and began walking back towards the main road, following in Hanabi's footsteps. "It is significant pressure—you're right. It seemed, oddly, to increase after the Uchiha were massacred, and they were as close to our rivals as we could have living in the same village without chaos."

She fell into step with him. "But you're not so concerned about it. The pressure, I mean. Anymore."

"Not for myself, anyway. Hanabi is young still, and there are complicated politics around her right now, about inheritance. It's easy to be sensitive to those things." He felt his lips tighten into an unpreventable grimace. "I'm not surprised she tries to show ambition and worth."

Sakura looked as if he'd personally slighted her. "Worth? She's a brilliant kunoichi—she'll do very well at anything she chooses. And she's family besides that. What other worth is there to measure?"

Neji checked her face for traces of a joke and found none. The grown jounin Sakura, it seemed, was still quite naïve—not in a bad way, he supposed, but in her rather foolish insistence on morality, on implicit value. They were shinobi, after all; their value was what it cost to buy their services. Not that they taught that at the Academy, but Neji had expected the new Hokage Hatake Kakashi and his predecessor to have instilled that message in the student they shared.

He tried to piece his words together as he and Sakura reentered the throngs laughing and talking in the street. "Not long ago, Hanabi was going to become heir instead of Hinata. Hiashi has since changed his tune, but he is not the only powerful clansman. It is hard to explain to others Hinata's growth and strength. I think many still doubt her. And many want her to marry inside the clan."

Sakura was adjusting her collar. Streaks of reddish dirt marred her knees from where she'd dropped to look at Hanabi's arm, but she appeared not to notice them. "What does that have to do with Hanabi?"

"She would be sealed," Neji said bluntly, "if Hinata took control of the clan. According to tradition."

When Sakura didn't answer, he looked to his left; she was frowning with such severity he was mildly surprised people weren't backing away from her. "So she's trying to prove that she's just as valuable as Hinata, even as Hinata has to prove her own value in order to be clan head. That's barbaric."

"I believe the phrase is, 'preaching to the choir.'"

Sakura looked up at him, startled and evidently embarrassed. "Oh, of course—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up… um, tense situations."

"I do not feel any tension," he said, which was mostly the truth. It was hardly Neji's business, for where he was concerned, the deed was done—he was already sealed, his place within the family assured. "Hinata is actually taking to leadership quite well. Or better than expected," he amended. "Hanabi, too, will find her way. The clan has tight strictures, but there has always been room to move within them, and Hiashi, contrary to my adolescent beliefs, is not _actually_ a monster."

"Room to move, like learning Main House techniques on the sly?"

Pride and amusement fought for rights to his smile. "Yes, something like that. I somewhat doubt that Hanabi will be sealed. It is only a matter of pressing the right buttons on the right people, and my uncle has always been rather good with that."

They walked in companionable silence for a while after that, threading around swarms of people heading in both directions but coming back together after their flank-and-disperse, falling into step like people well-practiced in each other's strides—which they weren't, Neji reflected briefly, not really. They'd only ever walked together on missions. And after meeting at the café. He glanced at his companion again; Sakura was popping up on tiptoe every once in a while, searching for someone. He spared her the derisive comment he had ready on his lips; if she wanted to find someone, truly, she'd ask for use of his bloodline technique. Apparently she would rather not mention it—that was fine with him.

"What do you make of Hinata and Naruto?" she asked him after a moment, throwing him for a loop completely. They passed Ichiraku. No sign of the aforementioned pair at the stand.

"Is that who you're looking for?"

"No," she said with a sigh, "I'm a little worried about Sasuke and Sai being together for this long without a buffer. Kakashi-sensei doesn't need to deal with a blowout in the middle of his inauguration—and it wouldn't look good to the other villages, either."

"Indeed." The famous combustible Team Seven. They could all be a circus act. _That was unkind—_Hinata, rebuking him from inside his own head. That was happening more and more frequently, lately. "I don't know what I 'make of' Hinata and Naruto, Haruno. I can hardly tell they're…together."

"That's what I mean." Sakura looked up at him almost eagerly. "I realized the other day—they haven't seen each other nearly as much since the end of the war, in all that excitement. I was sort of wondering… you know…"

Neji did know, but it was probably best to pretend that he didn't spend some portion of his free time pondering the intricacies of his cousin's love life. And a tricky, hidden part of him wanted to hear what _she_ thought of it all, first. "I'm afraid I don't."

She sputtered at him momentarily. "Oh—you know—if it had fizzled out, or something."

He allowed this small, boldly-colored girl a fair amount of incredulity. _Fizzled out? _"Naruto doesn't tell you these things?"

At which mention Sakura, for some unearthly reason, blushed a vibrant and engaging red. "No, he doesn't tell me _everything. _Sometimes with Naruto you just have to figure it out yourself. He leaves plenty of clues," she added in a strange tone. "But I was only wondering if you'd noticed anything on—on your end."

"On my end." They'd stopped, as if on cue, by a vendor of shaved ice, at whose stand children—civilians, genin, Academy kids—and their parents queued. They babbled, all of them, adults and little delinquents alike; what is it about festivals that makes everyone revert to unintelligibility and childish desire? Neji watched them all with a critical eye. "No, Hinata is quiet about such things, as you might well guess. And I doubt she'd mention it to me unless I asked. Which I wouldn't do."

"Right." Sakura's blush remained; she shook it away, physically, and shoved her hands in her pockets in a very Shikamaru-ish way. Neji wondered momentarily if they spent much time together outside of missions; they certainly seemed to have gotten closer over the course of their trip with Matsuo, although that was only to be expected. They'd shared a caravan car. Proximity does strange things to people. Perhaps Naruto, for his part, just couldn't stand to let Sakura go.

Neji promptly stopped himself from continuing along those lines. _It's none of my business,_ although it would take quite a lot to convince him now that he was wrong. But of course Sakura had noticed his brief silence. And so she quirked her brow at him, as she had a habit of doing, and made him answer for it. "What?"

_Are you and Naruto in love?_

_A prince among men!_

No—that was the wrong person, and even the wrong question. Of course they loved each other—in a fierce, inside-out sort of way. That much was quite clear. _She didn't want to tell him about the inner self._ But was Sakura—was Sakura envious of Hinata? It almost seemed possible.

His thoughts kept running away from him. He needed to reconstitute his focus.

"Are you still interested in having me help you meditate?" Grammatically, the question was appalling, but at least it had different words than those it had been born to say.

She gave him a weird look, pink eyebrows contracting. "That was a quick change of topic."

He shrugged. "I have been thinking about it." A very mild lie. Next to him, a child was pleading for extra cherry flavor, and the vendor was chuckling, joking about charging double. The look the mother gave him said, _Better not._

Sakura looked at him with those steady green eyes. "As a matter of fact, I am," she told him, pulling a loose thread from her coat and wrapping it around her index finger. She pressed her lips together and released them; they bloomed. "I meditated with Naruto the other day and nearly gave him a concussion. I think it's best to have someone else around—someone who can see what's going on. If you're still up for it—"

"Of course."

She bestowed him with a grateful, weary smile. "Thank you. Tomorrow, then? We usually start at about four-thirty PM. I've been leaving the hospital early. And I can pay you in meals," she added, her smile changing somehow. "I like having guests for dinner."

This was a strange girl—woman, Neji corrected conscientiously—one with secrets behind her. He wondered if she swallowed all her own lies. Not that he had any business being reproachful of people who kept things bottled up. "That probably won't be necessary," he said, and took small enjoyment from the way she pouted at his refutation. "Unless you hit _me_. In which case you'll be treating me twice over."

She snickered. "I already owe you for the tea, so no problem. Hey—Shika-san! Kurenai-sensei, Gai-sensei, hi."

Kurenai, a little rounder in the face than Neji remembered her, appeared amongst the crowd, leading a toddling child up to them; Shikamaru, in true form, loped behind her. Gai bounded alongside them and immediately launched at Neji for a back-slapping hug, which Neji knew enough to avoid. Gai still clipped him on the shoulder, and it was only practice that kept him from wincing at the dull pain. "How good to see you among friends, my student!" As if he'd never seen Neji with anyone else, ever. He found himself sighing and smiling at the same time.

The child was swaddled in winter clothing: hat, mittens, tiny boots, Western-style peacoat. _Why dress children like smaller adults?_ Neji wondered. All that fabric kept the thing from walking properly; it nearly fell on him, and grabbed at his shoes for purchase. "Sakura, Neji," Kurenai greeted them, smiling. "I just gave Kakashi my congratulations. I have to say I'm a little worried as to the direction this village is heading with him as its head; we'll be exporting those horrible books by the thousands come next weekend."

Sakura giggled, a sound echoed by the child, who was gleefully tugging on Neji's pant leg. He had to physically subdue an urge to kick out, but it died completely when the little girl looked up at him with big eyes and cooed. "Hel-_lo_!"

Shikamaru snorted. "We came to get shaved ice, but it looks like someone's been distracted."

Gai beamed. "She has been taken by Neji's charm, as we all are." That was probably stretching it.

"Nah, she likes everyone."

Kurenai smiled in the soft way all mothers seem to do when watching their children love someone else. "Neji, have you met Mirai?"

Neji had not; he'd purposefully avoided it, in fact, because something about the idea of Asuma dying before his child could meet him face to face had always made him feel slightly sick. The little girl had spiky black hair that could have come from either parent, but the eyes that turned up to him with eager blinking were all Kurenai. "No," he answered at last, and wishing that he had hid his reluctance a bit better. "Hello, Mirai."

Mirai looked ecstatic that he could talk and that he had chosen to bestow his words upon her. She grappled once more with his pant leg. "Hel-_lo_!"

Gai essentially squealed; Kurenai sighed. "Well, better get used to her for the moment. I'll get her an ice and let you talk. Would anyone else like one?"

Gai answered in the excited affirmative, but the three younger nin shook their heads; the two jounin-sensei joined the elongating queue behind them. Shikamaru crouched, plucked Mirai from the ground with two hands, and hooked her under his arm. "Don't you bother Neji-san," he told the girl with fake solemnity. "He's Hyuuga royalty."

"Prince!" the girl squealed, and reached out to him again. Neji cast a glance at Sakura and saw her hand doing the hard job of suppressing her laughter.

"Now you've done it, Shika," she said, looking at the child kicking under his arm with warmth. "She won't leave him alone now."

"The _prince_ carry me!"

Shikamaru was giving Neji an odd look that was somewhat familiar, though Neji couldn't place it: as if Shikamaru was challenging him, as if Neji had done him some subtle wrong. "What d'you say, Hyuuga?" Mirai was held out to him with both hands again—the girl herself reached for him with fat arms.

Sakura was looking at him like she was taking field notes. He decided to oblige. "The girl has good taste," he said loftily, "and should be rewarded for it." Had he ever held a child since Hanabi was small? Mirai, when she was deposited into his arms, was a bundle of warmth and soft cloth and rustling limbs, and surprisingly heavy; she immediately reached up to his face and put a mitten somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth. When he jerked his head away, she giggled.

"This is not something I thought I'd ever see," Sakura said. She moved to stand with Shikamaru, across from Neji, and tilted her head as if framing him. "You and a kid."

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. "A fairy tale prince."

The words 'fairy tale' seemed to ring true for Mirai, who bounced in his arms. "Kiss! Kiss!" To growing horror, Neji felt his cheeks warm.

"That's for mothers to do," he told the child sternly. And fathers, but he wasn't really set on ruining the psyche of this two-year-old by mentioning it. Holding was one thing, but kissing? Quite another, especially considering he couldn't get over the way the kid had Kurenai's eyes. What a strange thing, inheritance. There's so much you don't ask for in being born.

Shikamaru was leaning his arm on Sakura's shoulder with affected heaviness, a very friendly gesture that Sakura didn't seem to mind. "That's what princes do," he said pointedly.

Sakura nodded sagely. "He's right. Princes kiss princesses. And Mirai, you're certainly a princess, right?"

The girl nodded spastically. Neji sighed. He should have never accepted this lump of a person. If Hanabi saw him holding a baby, there was no end to the grief he'd get from his uncle…

"Kiss! Please?"

The child had her face turned expectantly, and the thought of disappointing her made resistance valueless. Neji put a soft peck on her cheek—it was like kissing snow and having it melt on your lips, and she smelled like fresh air and fresh linens—and was rewarded by the most thrilled look he'd seen on anyone's face, ever, until he glanced back and saw that Gai-sensei had noticed and was grinning widely enough to look positively alarming. _Wonderful._ Sakura was beaming—"That was so _cute—_" and Shikamaru groused, but Neji couldn't stop looking at Mirai. The girl was alive in his arms, moving ceaselessly and gracelessly and yet with such fervor and reassurance in the mobility of her own limbs. He wanted to smooth her hair down, to adjust her stupid hat, but a kiss was enough, or he might as well remove his ANBU tattoo himself. He deposited the child back on the ground in time for Kurenai to return with a shaved ice and a knowing look that Neji pointedly ignored.

"The prince gimme a kiss!" Mirai squealed, to his dismay.

Kurenai chuckled. "I saw. He's a prince? I didn't know that. How fitting for you, little queen."

_A prince among men_. Shikamaru was still looking at him rather oddly. Neji made quick goodbyes and departed the familial scene before he could be asked to join it once again.

* * *

><p>By sunset, he'd found his old team: Tenten and Lee were sitting on someone's roof, swinging their legs off of the edge. Shinobi always did that—claim buildings as their own. Upon seeing him in the street they jumped down and walked with him, chatting aimlessly, easily, as they always did. It was dark outside but the street was lit up by candles in windows and the shops' soft yellow lights. Street vendors were still at work, and while Tenten stopped for a snack it began to snow; fat white flakes at first, and then smaller, colder ones that built up quickly on the cold ground.<p>

Lee made an exclamation of joy. "Snow! Konoha will be blanketed again by the morning. What a joyous end to the day."

"It is nice," Neji admitted, tilting his head to face the flakes. Snow made the buildings of the Hyuuga compound look like they were floating on a great, milky sea; in the morning, before anyone began moving around, the whiteness would extend infinitely, hard and glittering and permanent until touched.

"I believe that is your cousin over there," Lee said after a moment, pointing indiscreetly. Indeed, Hinata was wandering down the street, looking up at the sky rather than at her feet as she usually did; she looked lost, like a girl who'd run from home on a promise only to find that there was nowhere else to go. Neji wasn't sure what to do—to go to her, or to leave her be—but quickly enough he chose the latter. He could guess what had happened at Ichiraku, or what hadn't happened at Ichiraku. He could guess that his cousin loved Naruto with a blind and blazing strength, and that its reciprocation was not so deep in him as her own bottomlessness. He could guess that Naruto was confused and sorry and incapable of truly hurting his cousin, so he'd said something very Naruto, very earnest: _I'll try. I promise. I'll do my best._

"I belive you're right," Neji said, and Lee wisely said nothing else until Tenten returned from the line. Because what else can you say? You can't promise love when you're not sure how much you have to give or how much you're worth receiving. Hiashi had never told Neji that he _loved_ him. Someone like Uchiha Sasuke would never tell his teammates that he _loved_ them. While Naruto could toss of promises of a lifetime to the people he'd first become close to in his youth and to people he met on the street, maybe he couldn't pledge the same to Hyuuga Hinata, who fell complexly in between. Maybe he'd used up all of his love to get his brother-Uchiha back. Maybe he'd used up all of his love on a Sakura who cried in front of all of them so many years ago, such a strange thing for a kunoichi that Inuzuka Kiba had mentioned it on the hunt for Sasuke in uncharacteristic eloquence: 'I have never had someone surrender themselves so completely to me before.'

Speak of the devil, they say, and he shall appear, but Neji saw her coming from his peripheral vision long before he registered her presence. There she was, now sitting with Shikamaru on a bench along the way and watching Hinata turn a corner with green eyes that looked surprisingly hard. Shikamaru was speaking to her in low tones, giving a half-shrug, and then—wonder of wonders—hesitantly putting a hand on her shoulder. Sakura didn't seem as startled at the contact as Shikamaru had been wary of it. She said something, a brief something accompanied by a laugh, which Shikamaru reciprocated. And she laughed again.

Stranger and stranger. Shikamaru kept his hand at Sakura's shoulder, first hovering tentatively above it, then plucking a lock of her hair with forefinger and thumb, lightly enough so she wouldn't notice, and twining it around his fingers as if it was rope he was testing for purchase. Neji saw him blink, frown, and drop her hair, drop his hand—it rested on the back end of the bench, and he leaned up, and he and Sakura watched the last round of fireworks together with inches of space between them, Shikamaru frowning, Sakura only looking up, up, up.

The Rokudaime found him then, startling Tenten by appearing directly next to her in a swirl of leaves and catching her on the temple with his hat. "Whoops, sorry," Kakashi muttered, adjusting the thing so that it pointed in the right direction. "Hokage coming through. Yo, Hyuuga."

"Hokage-sama!" Lee and Tenten dropped into identical bows.

"Hokage-sama." He gave a deep bow, as well, as was now necessary. Kakashi sighed rather apocalyptically. "What can I do for you?"

"I hear you're in desperate need of a mission." Kakashi's visible eye crinkled. "I just now happen to have one for you. Oh, there, is that Sakura-chan? Who's she canoodling with?" A brief pause while he answered his own question. "Thought he was smarter than that. Sakura!"

From down the street, Sakura looked up, startled at the sound of her own name. Shikamaru did not move a muscle as she darted from the bench. "Kaka-sensei, what's up?"

"Kaka-sensei," Kakashi muttered. "Naturally. Over here, please, no prying ears—see you later, Lee—" Kakashi beckoned them to follow him to the rooftop of an apartment complex and took off his hat before continuing. "I have a mission for you and Hyuuga here."

"You're getting started pretty early for someone who barely accepted the title," Sakura said, folding her arms against the cold and the snow. Neji couldn't help it—he looked askance at her rudeness, although the Hokage didn't seem to be much bothered.

"Well I often happen to run late, so." Kakashi chucked his student under the chin like she was a child. "This mission won't be for a couple of weeks in any case, but I thought I might give you two a heads-up because I want you two heading it."

"Both of us?" It was out of Sakura's mouth, but it had come from Neji's head, as well.

"Both of you." Kakashi looked somewhat grave now; the hat and robes gave him an air of solemnity—a gravitas—that had always lurked beneath his unkempt appearance and only surfaced in battle. "You'll be uniquely qualified for it, seeing as it's a diplomatic mission to the Land of Iron, and as they've requested both of you, particularly."

"_What?_" It was rather nice that she said the things Neji willed himself not to.

"Well, not _specifically._ Just particularly." Kakashi smiled again and Neji found a little more devil-may-care in it than he liked. "It's a waltz-around-and-look-impressive sort of gathering. They asked for the Hokage, but no Kage is going to go, and I declined easily. I'm so brand new, and all. So we're sending members of our most prominent clans and the student of our previous Hokage. A nice little compromise. And a nice little chance for espionage on our part, given recent events."

Neji unstuck his lips first this time. "Clans, plural?"

"Clans, plural." Kakashi's visible eye swiveled to Sakura. "You won't be surprised to hear who they asked to meet—_specifically_."

Sakura blinked, then laughed, a rather cold little rattle that made Neji turn halfway to look at her, to make sure she wasn't outlined in black and holding a dagger again. "Oh, my," she said, smiling up at the sky as she had when she'd sat with Shikamaru, "a mission with _Sasuke._"

Neji looked sharply at the Hokage, who did not deny her conclusion. So he and Sakura were to be the chain upon which the beast was kept. A two-link chain made out of an ANBU captain and one of the only people in the world who had ever managed to keep Uchiha Sasuke from going absolutely mad.

He glanced at Sakura again and couldn't keep himself from wondering—who might keep her from doing the same?

Oh, well. Now, at least, he had something to look forward to.


End file.
